Pink Bubble Gum
by DR. Elsac2
Summary: Rick looks at her. The small woman clad in a pink bubble gum fur. She is far too elegant for the job. She is almost an enigma needing a solution. Richonne oneshot
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own the walking dead**

**this is probably going to stay a one-shot. I only need to clear my mind, and so I can focus on updates of my other story. **

**Please, review**

* * *

**PINK BUBBLE GUM**

* * *

The situation is weird. He never thought it would happen, and yet, Rick stares at the evidence. Funny thing, how it begins and ends. He stares at the humongous glass windows of his office, and there is no higher point in the city. How odd it is to feel like this from his office.

The climb cost him everything and a heartbreak. Rick continues to stare at the window, and the view no longer holds charms. Rick draws a deep breath, and he moves away from the windows.

" Looking like the perfect cliché of a fucking idiot with a broken heart." Shane's voice fills Rick' office.

Rick sighs, and he throws the brown envelope on the table. He sinks in his chair, and his hands come to rest on the mahogany desk. Shane's steps consume silence. The sounds of clicking tumbler steal Rick's attention. He raises his head right on time to face Shane, who pushes a tumbler full of scotch toward him. The golden liquor pours on the expensive desk.

Rick does not react beyond a sigh, and any other day, he would have lost his mind. Now, he feels no pride in his accomplishment, and his desk is nothing, but expensive wood.

" Your first one?" Shane asks, and he is at his second one. However, the situations are different. " you will be over it before you take your next breath." He attempts to comfort Rick.

Rick looks at Shane, and he is different from his best friend. He understands what Shane endeavours to do, but Shane has no lived Rick's life. He will always fail to understand.

" sixteen fucking years," Rick points out with a poisonous bitterness, " Fuck, I thought we were doing okay at least and good at best." He stares at the brown envelope, " She said that she wanted time, and I gave it to her. Now, she is complaining that I picked my job over her. Fuck it." Rick picks the envelope, and he throws it to Shane, " Lori wants the downtown loft and the Hampton summer house. My fucking work paid for those houses, but that is not a problem."

Shane pulls the divorce paper from the envelope, and he quickly reads them. He carefully returns them to the table.

" Ironclad prenup," Shane replies, and he drains his tumbler, " and she is going to have what she brought to your relationship, nothing." He returns to the minibar and refills his glass.

Rick sighs, and he cannot believe that sixteen years of his life has come to a terrible end. Rick has scrapped his mind for a hint. Nothing of substance has come out of his search for a reason for their divorce. Neglect, he is a stockbroker, and working a lot comes with the territory. The money follows the extra hours of work. Lori did not complain about the money, and she has no qualms coming for what luxury the money afforded Rick.

" Maybe…" Shane's glare makes Rick stop, and he remains exhausted, " I don't want to begin a fight. Fuck…fuck… we were friends before we began to date. Never doubted that I would finish my life with her, and well…I don't want to fight over walls and roofs." Rick drinks a big gulp.

Shane looks at his best friend, and he always was a sceptic. He was never gullible enough to believe in perfect love. Therefore, he pushed Rick to allow him to draw a prenuptial contract. Perhaps, professional deformation leads him to see an expiration date on every marriage. Even his best friend and his childhood sweetheart had an expiration date.

" The entire point of the prenup is to protect your money, and Lori is going to get nothing. She wants to walk out of your marriage because of made-up excuses, and she will do so with nothing. Don't say fucking shit. You don't have children. She can fucking find a job and begin to understand why you cannot take a trip every week. I'm handling it." Shane announces with no intention to give many thoughts on the way to proceed.

" Do as you want," Rick has nothing to say, " going home." He gives up the game of pretence. " The one, which she is not trying to claim," He says and checks his watch, " nine to a quarter p.m. Never left this office so early." He draws a deep breath, and he passes the divorce paper to Shane. " At least I don't have to worry about finding an empty house. I was a dumbass to believe that a year of separation would not lead to divorce." Rick thinks aloud, " Well…"

Shane does not reply, and he rises as Rick does. He drags Rick into his arms, and he hugs him as tightly as he can. Rick was present for Shane's two divorces. With the experiences, Shane has developed a coping mechanism. Although, Shane's longest marriage lasted three years. Rick dated Lori for eleven years, and their marriage lasted five years.

" Perhaps, you need my way to get through a divorce," Shane asks, and he sounds concerned.

Slowly, he releases Rick. Shane waits for an answer.

" If it can make this thang all better, I'm willing to try anything. " Rick replies, and he only needs an emotional break.

"It works like a charm," Shane taps on Rick's shoulder, and they head out of the office.

* * *

Being at home does not stop Rick from working. As the hours have passed, he has concluded that Lori may be right. Rick throws the lighter on his couch, and he blows the first smoke with a sense of relief. He pushes his glasses back on his nose, and his eyes have reddened from the overexposure to the computer screen light.

At his sixth failing algorithm, Rick begins to understand that he has begun to obsess over his divorce. In truth, Rick's marriage died a year ago. However, he wanted to be naïve. Now, he has to face reality.

Rick draws more smoke of his cigarette, and he does not seem to find a way to relax. He sighs, and he walks to his bedroom. Rick drags the cupboard open, and he begins to search for his most potent emotional regulator. Between the sleeping pills and the stimulants, he manages to find the box of Xanax.

"Happy divorce to me," He dramatically raises an empty glass, and he begins to fill it with his oldest scotch.

He always believed that he would open the bottle to celebrate a special occasion like upcoming fatherhood. Now, children are a fading thought. Rick throws the Xanax pill in his mouth, and the scotch washes it. He returns to his couch, and he begins to wait for the pills to kick. Rick drains his cigarette, and he continues to stare at his numbers.

When he begins to make sense of his numbers, the bell of his apartment rings. Rick is not expecting anyone, and he has every intention to ignore the person behind his door. He refills his tumbler, and he immediately drains it.

The door begins to ring again, and Rick wonders who might feel the need to be so insistent. He takes his fourth glass of scotch. The world blurs a bit, and the Xanax offers it a different vibrancy. Rick recklessly rises from his seat, and he accidentally hits his bottle of liquor. The golden liquid spreads on the iron table, and the drops begin to stain the gorgeous ancient carpet. Rick could care less, and Lori was the one into interior design. He immediately regrets thinking of her. Rick forgets about the ringing door. He dugs the container for more pills, and the scotch follows to wash the foul taste away.

Rick's vision blurs more, and he searches for his glasses. They sit on his nose, and the big frame digs in his skin. A sheer layer of sweat begins to coat his skin. Rick draws a deep breath, and his sight falters once more. The ring at the door becomes unbearably loud. With sluggish movements, Rick manages to hit his table, and he stumbles to his door.

"Fucking what?" He hurls as soon as he opens the door.

A bed of sweat lies on his forehead, and Rick's curls stick to his pale skin. His blurry sight catches a flash of pink. It is pink so bright, and it hurts his eyes. Rick attempts to rub his eyes, and his fingers hit his glasses.

" Fuck," Rick grunts, and he pulls off his glasses, " What?" He asks in a voice, which he fails to recognise.

The answer comes with fingers digging into his arm and sharp nails tearing his skin. He has no time to react when the blurs of pink turn into an approximate shape. Rick feels the texture of soft skin pressed against his forehead.

" What?" He repeats with anger, and Rick fails to catch a breath, " Who are y…" His throat closes, and Rick struggles for the next breath, " wh…" He fails again, and the sweat becomes cold.

The pink blur is all Rick can see, but it begins to fade too. His blown pupil cannot hold the light, and Rick's knees buckle. He has a moment of panic, but arms close around his waist. Rick's face lands into a soft fabric of pink.

" Pretty boy," the pink blur is a she, and she has the voice of an angel, " I think you're overdosing, pretty boy." She continues with an odd calm. " Fucking don't die on me," She speaks with warmth, and he feels his body begins to move.

* * *

It takes a few minutes, or time is slow only for him. The same fingers drag the button of his shirt, and soon, his pants pool at his feet. The hands are now on his cheeks, and she cups his face between her soft palms.

" hold on, darling," She tells him with utter tenderness, " If you fucking die, my greedy ass is ending in jail." She shoves him in the bathtub.

Rick's bareback hit the cold surface, and his grip on the pink blur is unbreakable. She feels like life, and so she finishes in the bathtub with Rick. The water pours, and she pries his mouth open. Her long nails graze his tongue, and she pushes his face away from the cold bath.

Rick throws up until there is nothing to expel. He feels her weight on him. The pink bleeds in the water. Rick's hand comes to rest on her waist, and she straddles him. Cough shakes his body while the struggle for each new breath begins to slow.

The same manicured hands rest on his shoulder. Her palms are so warm, and her body is warmer. Rick rests his head in the centre of her chest. She is soft flesh and smooth skin. Slowly, the pink blur turns into a bleeding woman. She bleeds pink in his Italian bathtub, and the water looks like the juice from pink bubble gum.

"Pretty boy," She whispers with her hands on his cheek, and she keeps Rick's eyes on her.

" Hmmm," Rick groans, and speaking feels like an act of torture on his throat. The sensation of her finger digging in his throat has not disappeared.

Rick lies his head on the edge of the bathtub, and she rests her head on his chest. Her ear pressed to his cold skin, and she hears his heart roaring. Death has begun to walk away from Rick.

"pretty boy, " her thumb caresses Rick's jaws, " Wake up," her fingers dance on his chest, and Rick lazily opens his eyes, " Do I call an ambulance?" She asks because she has experience with men of Rick's calibre.

"No," Rick croaks.

She does not argue, nor does she panics. Once again, she taps his cheek to gain his attention. Rick moans, and he half-opens his eyes. Her face begins to come to a shape. Her full red lips move to speak, and Rick takes a hold of her face.

" What did you take?" She softly speaks, and Rick begins to form a thought.

He stares at her between slumber and awe. She has as gorgeous like an angel. Brown pupil steadily holds his sluggish mind. Rick holds on her face, and she smells like strawberry candy, cherries, and lemon. From her hair, the drops of water fall and hit Rick's visage.

" Xanax," Rick manages an answer, and her soft hands encouragingly brush his cheek.

" hold on, pretty boy." She says.

Rick watches her disappear, as his view begins to darken. The room continues to spin, and the water is pink bubble gum like her dress. Drops of pink follow her steps, and her dress bleeds all over his expensive marble.

Rick stares at the door frame, and he does not know if she will return. She may be a hallucination. He might be dying. His head hangs on the edge of the tub, and his fingers swing and dip in the pink water pooling by the bathtub. The world is slower, and his breaths are shallower by the minute. He coughs and fails to chuckle. A fitting end, Rick has a cynical sense of humour.

"Now, I'm not going to jail for accidental manslaughter, pretty boy." The wet sound of her steps is comforting.

Her hands grab his arms, and she begins to drag him out of the pool. His bare wet skin slips from her grip, and her pink bubble gum acrylic nails sink in his muscles. She pulls on a precarious balance on a slippery bathroom marble. Soon enough, she slips on the floor, and Rick's naked body comes to cover her like a blanket.

"I got you," She whispers out of breath, and with great effort, she stretches to grab her bag laying on the floor. " hold on, pretty boy." The bag is equally bubble gum pink.

She pours the bag contents on the floor, and she picks the syringe. Her job has odd requirements. She carefully reads the label on the syringe.

" Flumazenil," She reads aloud, " This shit better work," she adds as she pushes the syringe into Rick's arm. " It better work, or I'm calling an ambulance, pretty boy." She tells Rick, and he grabs her hand.

" No ambu…" Rick can barely finish or form a sentence.

She does not reply, but she threads her fingers in his wet curls. His weight is crushing, but she does no efforts to move him.

" Alright but promise me not to die on me," She whispers with a small smile, and Rick nuzzles her neck.

For half an hour, they lay on the cold marble of Rick's bathroom. Each of Rick's breaths is a stolen moment of life, and they begin to be stronger. Her body is warm, and she is wet too.

" Fucking cold," Rick croaks between coughs, and his weight might begin to suffocate her.

She pushes her hand between their body, and she begins to push her wet dress down her chest. She contorts and twists until she can kick the pink fabric with her foot. Her legs wrap around Rick's waist, and her bare breast presses against his chest where Rick's heart has begun to have a regular rhythm.

" I will be charging extra, pretty boy." Rick hears her say before her warmth and exhaustion claim his mind.

* * *

Rick wakes up in his bed and alone. The pounding headache and the dry throat are nothing out of the ordinary. To be truthful, a near overdose and hallucination are nothing out of the ordinary. As a high paid stockbroker, drugs and alcohol are a job requirement. As long as no ambulance arrives and no police involvement happens, there is nothing to lament.

He wipes the sleep from his eyes, and his leg feels like cotton. The wedding band on his hand scratch his skin, and Rick has yet to remove it. He sighs, and in reality, he has not been present in his marriage. There lies the reason for regrets.

Rick pushes away his bedsheets, and he did not imagine being naked. He scratches his head, and he carefully sits. Rick searches for his watch, and he cannot miss the market opening.

Four a.m is a decent hour, and he pushes on his legs, which feels weak. Rick barely stands, and he grabs the bedside table. He drags the cupboard open, and he begins to search for his stack. He does not have time to deal with the aftermath of an almost overdose. He has his work, and he has nothing left in his life.

Rick begins to search, and the cupboard is empty. Last night comes in small flashes, and he remembers pouring his stack on the couch to pick the Xanax. He is not a fan of the drug, but he is also not a fan of defeat. In a competitive profession, he has to match the concurrence. Stockbrokers do not sleep, they are not sick, and God forbid to take a break to eat.

Rick stumbles and staggers until his living room. He drags himself to the couch. The stack of different pills lies on the cream leather, and he picks it to begin his search for anything to help him boost his sluggish body.

" Do you have a death wish, pretty boy?" Her voice feels the living room.

Rick finally takes not of her approaching steps. He grabs a container of Adderall. Cautiously, he turns to face her. For a few seconds, he takes her appearance in, and the conclusion is easy to make. Loose bun sits on the crown of her head with loose strands of dreadlock frame a gorgeous visage. The red of her lips has faded into a vibrant pink. Her skin glistens as the lights of the city sneaking in his apartment reflect on it. However, what convinces Rick of the surrealism of the moment is the pink bubble gum fur laying on her skin.

Rick does not answer, and he has had his fair share of bad trips. She begins to walk toward him, and she has a tumbler of scotch in her hand. It becomes blatant that he is consoling himself with a fantasy.

"Odd silence," She replies, and she passes him to sit elegantly on his sofa. " No more Xanax, please. No cocaine or I will have to call an ambulance." She adds with a sign of annoyance.

" Fucking have to work," Rick replies, and he elects to ignore the figment of his imagination.

"Stockbroker?" She asks after picking a container of pills, " only your likes overdose on Xanax and wants to head to work on a Sunday." She adds with a knowing look, "Glenfiddich, you're one of the best I guess." She raises the tumbler half-filled with aged scotch.

Rick does not say much, and he opens the drug container. He picks the pills and takes the tumbler from her hand. His mind has concluded that she is not a hallucination. The sensuality and her flirty tone are beyond his brainpower. He throws the pills back, and he washes it with the scotch. Around the tumbler, a stain of her lips rests. Rick sighs, and he returns the tumbler. She takes a sip, and she watches him with a softness in those brilliant brown orbs.

" Sunday?" He asks as he sits by her, and Rick is oddly unfazed for a person with a stranger in his home.

However, he went to college, and he works in wall street. He is not out of his circle of oddities. She passes him the tumbler of scotch, and he takes a sip.

" You gave me a scare," She replies with her fingers disappearing in his curls, " two days unconscious, and I always call the ambulance on the third day. Lucky you." She adds as she takes back the tumbler to drain it.

" Lucky me…" He says with relativism. " Did I hire you or Shane did?" Rick asks after a few minutes of silence.

" Cannot tell. I'm standing in for Sasha." She replies, and she roses from the couch.

Her pink fur grazes the floor, and it opens enough to show her skin. She is as bare under as Rick is. He looks at her toned abdomen for a second, and his eyes return to her face. She does not appear to be bothered by his moment of ogling.

" Then Shane hired you," Rick notes, and only his best friend would believe an escort is a way to cheer anyone after a divorce.

" Should I take the bills for my dress and the extra nursing service to his tab," She asks with a cocked eyebrow.

" Your name?" Rick ignores her question, " I will handle it," he ultimately adds.

He does not want anyone to know, and Rick has no heart to explain how his emotions have begun to overwhelm him. His almost overdose is a one-time thing.

" Michonne," She replies with the same soft smile full of pearly white teeth.

" Your real name?" Rick corrects his previous question.

She looks at him with amusement. Michonne leans on the couch.

" That is my real name, pretty boy. I'm not letting the agency cash thirty per cent on my extra work." Michonne clarifies.

Rick looks at her, and she does look like a person to have a unique melodious name. She carries a touch of exoticism to make her already striking beauty unforgettable.

" cash or a new dress?" Rick asks while he pries the empty tumbler from Michonne's hand.

He stands with no care for his state of undress. Michonne does not think he should be ashamed. He is physically gorgeous, and she returns the favour of ogling him. She quietly watches him walk away from her with his bow-legged gate.

* * *

Rick returns with the scotch bottle and clad in pyjama pants. He takes a spot by Michonne, and he did not bother with the tumbler. He sits the bottle between them.

" Do you happen to have cigarettes?" Rick asks as he begins to open the bottle.

Michonne lies on her stomach, and she reaches for a bag, which Rick had not noticed. She drags a small box, and she pulls the cigarette. It is in the same pink than her fur. However, Rick does not comment.

" Fire?" He mumbles with the cigarette dangling from his mouth.

Michonne pulls a lighter, and she leans toward Rick. Her hand stands as a shield from the wind, and she lights the tip of his cigarette.

" Thank you," Rick blows the first smoke, and he takes a swing of the scotch. He extends the bottle toward Michonne, and she takes it.

" fucked up priorities," Michonne points out, and she takes a burning gulp until it fills the length of her throat. " Thanking me for lighting your cigarette, but no words for saving your life and nursing you back to health for two days." Her tone has a nonchalance, which soothes the harshness of her accusation.

Rick takes the bottle, and he takes a few sips between blowing smokes. He looks at Michonne, and he sighs with exhaustion.

" How much you charge by hours, and it should be a decent thank you," Rick asks, " also cash or wire." He adds.

" Cash," She replies while losing her mind to distraction.

" Same for the dress?" Rick continues to ask.

" another dress. Mind you it was a channel." Michonne announces, " I will take nothing less." She adds with a smile.

Rick looks at her. The small woman clad in a pink bubble gum fur. She is far too elegant for the job. She is almost an enigma needing a solution. However, he has no time to dwell on curiosity and its aftermath.

" The dress bled on my tub and bathroom floor," Rick replies with a cocked eyebrow and a knowing expression, " I doubt a channel would do that." He adds with his business tone, and the smoke crawls out his mouth to punctuate his statement.

Michonne softly laughs, and she picks the cigarette from Rick's hand. Her legs spread on the couch, and they are endless. Her feet ride Rick's lap. She closes her eyes while her head dangles from the armrest. She draws as much smoke as she can from one breath. She blows the smoke toward the ceiling and sighs with content.

"Stockbrokers and their needs to bargain. You make awful fools. Only lawyers are worse. They don't allow a lie to slide. Perhaps, the stockbrokers are worse. They don't buy any lie, and no one can overcharge you." Michonne explains, and another blow of smoke follows.

She extends her fingers for Rick to retake the cigarette, but he only puts his lips on it. He draws the smoke and blows it toward the ceiling.

" The dress was Ali express, but emotionally, it was a channel," Michonne argues.

Rick laughs, and she laughs too. His hand rests on her feet. He listens to her laugh, and it is so melodious. In the last year of solitude, Rick has forgotten how the company of a woman feels. It is warm and comforting.

" Do you want it in the same pink bubble gum," Rick asks, and the choice of colour is odd.

Michonne looks gorgeous in her fur, and she probably looked beautiful in her dress. Rick can only imagine. However, he does not think that she is the type of woman parading every day in the flashiest colour.

There is something about Michonne which speaks of softness. Her smile or her regular breath, everything is soft. He would picture her in a morning gardening or at night reading a book. Probably, she spends her day in a light pastel colour. Perhaps, Rick is only going with his first impression of Michonne. She looked like an angel.

"powder lavender or watered mint," Michonne replies, " A channel?" She smiles with her eyes more than she does with her lips.

" A Versace," Rick replies, and he takes another blow of the cigarette, which she holds toward him. " I'm generous enough to buy you a designer over a dollar dress, but a channel is a no for the sake of principle."

" It would be an emotional channel," Michonne replies.

For a few seconds, they share the silence and the cigarette. Her feet remain on Rick's lap, and his hand has found her thigh.

"your fee by the hour?" Rick shatters the silence.

She taps to remove the ash from the tip of the cigarette.

" seven hundred dollars and I don't bargain. Cash, I don't care to explain such incomes to uncle Sam. So far we are at two days and three nights. I heard math make a stockbroker orgasm, and so I will let you do the calculations." She says between cigarette smoke and sips of scotch.

" Do you charge the same with sex in the mix, or is it only for nursing skills," Rick asks with the tip of his fingers grazing her silky skin.

" a blow job is a thousand. On the other hand, if you will rather go down on me, I have deals for pretty boys. I don't do anal. BDSM gets messy when no feelings are involved. I do like to be choked, but I charge extra for it. Missionary is two thousand. A fuck, a good one is five thousand up front." Michonne replies without missing a beat or an ounce of shame.

There are a suaveness and rasp to her voice, which let intend that she might be giving a thought to a few sets of scenario. As if she has given it a thought, and she would gladly fall in bed with Rick.

Rick does not think she should be ashamed neither. She is not the first escort to have her feet on his lap, and with his new divorcee status, she won't be the last. However, he likes how sincere and upfront Michonne is.

"Okay…" Rick says without expanding on the topic.

Rick' hand spreads on her silky skin, and his fingers cling to the muscle. The tips of Rick's fingers flirt with the hem of Michonne's fur coat. Michonne's hand covers Rick's one, and she slides her fingers between his.

" Do you want to fuck me?" She asks in a breathy whisper.

" I have not given it a thought, and yet I have not thrown you out with a check." Rick sincerely replies, and he is on the fence, " I have received a demand for divorce last night." He adds with no thought to expand on the topic.

" I'm the celebratory present," Michonne inquires with an odd sense of humour.

Rick chuckles, and he looks at their joined hands resting on her thigh. Shane probably intended it to be that way.

" a consolation prize," Rick corrects Michonne.

" hard divorce," She musters the care to ask.

Rick stares at Michonne, and her expression speaks volume. Something is comforting about blunt truth, and after a year of subtle lies, Rick wants nothing more than blunt truth.

" How much do you charge for listening and faking to care?" He demands with complete detachment.

Michonne's thumb grazes Rick's palm, and she drags her feet closer to his groin.

" Slightly hurtful and judgmental." She notices with a raspy chuckle.

" Not in the best mindset for niceties," Rick replies, but he is in a better mindset than before he met Michonne.

" which include the need to fuck me..." She inquires, but her eyes issue the challenge.

" I will pay for the company." He pries his hand back from her hand.

"Until when," Michonne retrieves that harsh business aspect.

" Until silence does not drive me mad or as long as a meal last. I have not shared a meal with anyone since last year." Rick answers, and he again leaves the couch.

" There is only cracker and scotch in your home," Michonne calls for Rick as he walks to the kitchen, " hard to have a meal with that," she adds with a sigh.

Michonne rises from the couch, and she checks her watch. She has never spent so many hours in the company of a client. There is nothing healthy in extending her time in his presence. She senses deep issue, and Michonne is a sucker for broken-hearted individuals. She only has in mind to leave before the feeling of attachment sink in her mind.

" Are you taking the offer or not?" Rick asks with a form of authority mixed to raw neediness, which makes it impossible to refuse.

" seven hundred the hour, and if it ends on counselling, I will reevaluate." Michonne reluctantly agrees, and she mentions the money to maintain the distance, " Swedish salmon with crisped oven potato fries. Is it too early for a Kir Royale." She asks because he is ordering a meal to have an excuse to keep her longer.

" As early as it is for scotch, but here we are." Rick takes a sip from the bottle, and he passes it to Michonne.

* * *

She does not pray, and Rick begins to want her to be more than a silent company. Michonne's fork stills, and she drains her Kir royale. She waits for the unavoidable.

" Worked for Shane before?" Rick finds no other way to break the silence.

She cocks an eyebrow, and Michonne can think of a dozen ways to have a warm conversation. She is sure that Rick wants a warm conversation.

" You don't share your girl," she smiles with an ounce of mischief.

The salmon is ultimately a matter of the past. At least, she has eaten a piece of her food. Rick, on the other hand, has yet to give his excuse to keep Michonne around a glance. He needs the company more than he needs a meal.

" The last one ended up divorcing me, but irrelevant to the question," Rick replies with a bitter taste left on his tongue at the mention of his divorce.

Michonne searches for a cigarette, and Rick wonders what is the reason of her infatuation with the colour pink. The cigarette begins to burn, and Michonne blows the smoke. She passes the cigarette to Rick, and his lips cover the stain left by her lipstick.

" You are my first stockbroker if it can help with the insecurities." She replies with that same easy smile as if life is entertainment worth exploring every second.

Such ease is envious, and Rick almost wants to cling to it. He does not want to remember his divorce, and Michonne makes it easy to forget. She commands attention, and Rick is willing to offer it.

" Shane is lawyer," Rick announces, but there is an ounce of amusement in his voice.

" I guess it answers your question, pretty boy." She throws each word with nonchalance as if she could care less for the dance leading to the finality of them.

" Rick," He corrects, and he has the bitter impression that pretty boy is not a title of endearment.

There is a dismissive nature to it, and every other client must be a pretty boy.

" I'm aware." She takes the cigarette from his fingers, " I saved you from an overdose, and curiosity is a rightful thing in that situation." Michonne adds with a smile.

" Then used it," Rick says with a trace of slight irritation.

" Abrasiveness and aggressiveness, make sense." Michonne sounds unfazed, and she extends the cigarette for Rick to take.

" a psychology major," Rick questions, and he does not doubt that she must be a psychology student.

" Oh an escort," Michonne corrects his false assumption " I don't have the cliché story. I'm not paying my way through med school or any school for the matter. I'm escorting for living, and no we're not having a conversation that would lead you to believe that you can play a saviour." She says with amusement.

She looks at Rick, and he is easy to picture as someone with a hero complex. Michonne does not need a saviour.

" No need to worry and I'm not in the business of saving women." Rick replies, and she hears what lies beyond the words," It's not profitable."

"What did you save her from?" Michonne knowingly asks, and in a form, she subtly offers what Rick demands of her.

" I never said I saved anyone," He argues without a passion.

The cigarette's ashes accumulate on Rick's fingers. He has long forgotten that he was smoking, and his mind appears unable to multitask.

" Your bitterness heavily implied it. The entire nice guy feeling used angle is tacitly present." Michonne points out, and she is nothing but a truth-teller.

After a year of lies, Michonne is a breath of fresh air. Her truth has a sharpness to it, but Rick finds it comforting.

" Nice guy?" He laughs, and he does not think she has been wrong up until this instant.

" Isn't he who you are? The nice guy who deserves his nice home and his sweet wife." She asks in an almost rhetorical way, and she does not picture him as anything but a nice guy, " someone who should have been a sheriff in a small town."

" I have the nice home," Rick selects the truth in Michonne's statement, " the soon to be ex-wife is on her way to claim it in the divorce settlement."

" Tragic," She says with apathy, and it is an echo to how Rick feels.

Something about his divorce has left Rick numb. Perhaps, there lies the tragedy. He cares but without caring beyond a soft heartache.

" Oh, she can have it. I live in my office. Divorce reason by the way ?" He casually adds.

" So you're not the nice guy," Michonne concludes with a bit of disappointment, and being a nice guy would have made Rick so easy to write off her mind.

" Never claimed to be," He counters with a smirk.

" I wanted you to be," Michonne confesses, but she withholds the reason why " It is easier to pile the flaw on the leaving party."

" You're wasting your talent?" Rick sighs, and he is doing it.

Michonne smiles, and she once again closes her eyes to draw a deep breath. Rick watches her, and Michonne spellbinds him.

" What did I say about trying to save me?" She asks with a tone of disapproval.

" nothing of substance," Rick replies, and he did not listen when she spoke on the matter.

" Stubborn," Michonne acknowledges, and so she does not reiterate her words.

If Rick decides that he wants to save her, Michonne does not think her opinion on the rescue would count. However, she does not need saving of any form.

" What do you need saving from?" Rick demands, and Michonne can imagine the floating cape.

" Nothing," Michonne genuinely answers, and there is no horror behind her career as an escort, " You?" She returns the question. She is in the mood to be a hero too.

" I don't know," Rick breathes the words, but there is something worth exploring," I haven't sat to think beyond the next trade."

" Then you need saving from nothing," Michonne concludes," Accidental overdose?" She adds for certainty.

" I have not had one in years." Rick chuckles, and he has known the worse fate. A Xanax overdose is nothing on the scale of the debauchery attached to his job, " forgot how scary it was?"

" An awful way to meet a client," Michonne points out.

Generally, the client overdose while she is present. She works for men who gave the impression to be invincible, and drugs prolong the delusion. In other cases, drugs are the only way to recreate emotions. Rick falls nowhere in those categories. He is only too dedicated to his work.

"Not your first time," Rick briefly remembers Michonne's calm.

"maybe I should take your offer and retire before a client overdose on me. Jail is not an appealing option." She laughs, and the humour to such a statement is hard to find.

" I haven't made an offer," Rick makes the offer in his rush to argue.

" Yet," she knowingly corrects, " A nice guy terrified of staying alone," Michonne adds the reason why he will ask her to enter an odd contract with him.

" Will you take it?" Rick sounds hopeful

" Perhaps," for the first time, she lies, but Michonne cannot keep a lie for long," I don't hold on fairy tales. Pretty boys are not charming Princes. God forbid, you want to fight dragons or imaginary pimps for me."

" Is there a pimp?" Rick asks, and he is willing to save her.

" Do you want to hear a cliché sob story?" Michonne smiles, and she has the most expressive smile, " The truth is boring. I have bills, which I like to pay regularly. I have a degree that sits pretty in my living room, but it's not getting me a job with financial security." She bursts his hope, and she has no reason to entertain Rick beyond tonight, " but the sob story is better, and you can save me from my awful pimp." She laughs.

" Your laugh is beautiful…" Rick says, and he feels like he needs to say it to salvage the night.

" You're adorable," Michonne rises from the couch, and she stands in front of Rick." Let me guess. You never paid for sex before tonight." She pulls the cigarette from his hand. It is nothing but ashes now.

" been in a couple for seventeen years or sixteen years." He answers with an explanation of the why.

"Do you want to have sex with me?" She asks with a clear picture of the answer, and she takes his hand to place on the inch of her skin, which the pink bubble gum fur coat does not cover.

" Anyone has ever said no?" He replies while his fingers spread on her stomach, and his wedding band catches the light.

Rick's hands explore her toned stomach, and they disappear under the fabric of her coat. She looks at Rick, and on Michonne's lips, a sensual smile sits. Delicately, she begins to push down her coat. It slides from her shoulder and pool at her feet.

" I usually don't ask. You're one of many firsts." She replies as she climbs on his lap and straddles his waist.

Rick's hands ride from her back to her shoulders. He kisses the lines of her collarbone. His teeth sink in her flesh, and his hand tug on the tie holding her locks. The long tresses spill over her shoulders and cover his fingers.

Rick is gentle. He tastes sweeter than Michonne expected. His mouth is soft, and the taste of stronger alcohol layers the sweetness. Each of his kisses creates a thirst for more of that sickly sweet flavour. Rick's tongue knows how to establish a pace, which Michonne can follow.

It is overwhelming, and yet it is never enough. Her lungs scream for her, but Michonne wants so much of him. Michonne bites Rick's lower lip, and she cramped her body to his to get more of him. The fabric of his pyjama pants scratches her bare ass.

Teeth, tongue, more teeth, and lungs drove to suffocation. Blood almost was drawn with the virulence of demanding bites, and cool tongues easing the pain. Michonne has kissed Rick with all her being. Michonne has poured her passion into Rick.

Michonne feels his hand on her, and it digs in her waist. He lifts her with ease, and she clings on his shoulder. Her nails scrape his pale skin, and Rick moans. he pulls Michonne upper on his laps, and she rides his clothed manhood.

She likes how with every kiss, her skin burns. With every touch, electricity runs on every inch of her skin. He should never spot touching, and she should not have let him touch her. Michonne cannot stop to think about miscalculations.

Michonne's hands clasp Rick's visage, and her thumbs are trapped between their face. He kisses her in a bruising manner with teeth sinking in lips, and tongue grazing skin. Corner of mouth being pulled away too soon. Rick kisses Michonne, and she wants it never to end. However, they must breathe, and so they separate to breathe.

" Maybe…" Michonne has the word on the tip of her tongue, and it will be wiser to stop.

"Maybe?" Rick silences her with a kiss, and he only wants so much of her.

He lifts her ass to align Michonne with his manhood. She looks in Rick's eyes with a hunger. She smiles in a way so sensual, and she kisses his shoulder. Her lips cover a scar, which her teeth have made.

His chest is bare, and the rising sun dances on his translucent skin. Michonne's coat haphazardly scattered on the floor and Rick's pants stuck on his ankles speak of Michonne's urgency. The head of his cock presses in the warmth of her cunt, and she rises slightly to allow Rick to sheath his dick in her walls.

Michonne feels full, and she stills on his lap. The tingles on her skin are stronger. Rick presses a hand on Michonne's stomach above her navel, and he draws the path of her fire. She shivers, and his hands are better than hers are. Rick's thumb begins to rub her clitoris. Once again, he stares into the depth of her eyes. The brown has hardened and turned into onyx.

She bounces and rolls chasing after a sensation, which makes every inch of her body feel alive. She feels fire pull in her core. She clings on Rick's shoulder.

Rick's fingers slide along the curves of Michonne's body until he holds her waist. Longer fingers leave their print on the supple flesh of Michonne's breast. Sensual caresses drawn on a trembling skin and her lips drink at the fountain of his insanity. She moans, he moans, and there is a crushing need for more. She pries his lips from her neck, and she presses her mouth to his. She only wants her breath to arise from his lungs.

Rick begins to move. His fingers tightly hold Michonne's waist, and he moves her with vigour up and down his cock. She fails to take breaths, and she sinks her teeth on his shoulder. She does not know what to make of the odd thoughts.

Rick pushes deeper into her. Her breasts press on his chest. She cups his face, and she makes Rick face her. Her thumbs draw the contour of his delicate features. She bites his lower lip, and she nuzzles his neck.

Michonne's thighs frame Rick's narrow waist. Her back sinks in the couch and traps his hand. A glee lives into the laughs that follow. Her smile pressed against his kisses, Rick drives in Michonne's core, and her wet cunt sheaths his manhood to perfection. His tongue steals a taste of her skin along her collarbone. She cries in an increasingly raw voice as Rick thrusts, and Michonne claws at his back when he hits the right spots.

A few thrusts drive Michonne to the edge, and she wants to fall with him. From what height, it matters little to Michonne. Which she knows to be a stupid thought of the instant. Good dick will make you think of a way to recreate madness.

Her body and mind are in a little frenzy. Rick kisses her hard and bruising. La petite mort envelops her muscles, and Rick's name is a whisper on her lips. Rick joins Michonne in the bliss. He rests his head in the crook of her neck, and Michonne welcomes Rick's crushing weight.

* * *

The room is quiet aside from their breathing slowing down. Michonne lies on top of Rick, and their legs are intertwined in an intricate formation. Her fingers draw the line of his shoulders. She feels the heaviness of his look on her.

"They're not real," Michonne knowingly informs Rick.

He does not argue that she is making something else out of his look. His dreamy stare holds a deeper meaning.

" and how would you know?" He argues, but she has greater experience than he does.

" I simply know," she detangles her legs from his.

Michonne begins to rise, but Rick keeps her in place. She smiles tenderly at the face of his naivety. They first want to save her, and then they think that they love her. However, nothing is real.

" I could pay…" Rick thinks of a bargain or anything to cling to Michonne.

" I know and the money is not a problem." She clarifies.

" So what is the problem?" Rick insists, and pleading is not above him.

" I don't gamble my heart, Rick." She replies with softness, and Michonne already thinks of the hurt," your loneliness is bound to disappear, and then…" she does not add the fateful what about me if I fall for you.

" I thought you didn't believe in cliché." Rick subtly appeals to her.

" I don't, but I have a soft spot for pretty boy and nice guy with a broken heart. Those who will move on too fast." Michonne has no doubt Rick falls in that category, " men like you are quite the heartache. I don't like heartache."

" So this is a one-time thang," Rick demands, and he knows the answer.

" Maybe," she draws a deep breath " wisely," she caresses his cheek " In my best interest." Michonne leans close to Rick.

" Perhaps, don't be wise." His lips cover her lips.


	2. Chapter 2

**I don't own the walking dead.**

**This is basically a late Christmas present for Richonne4life because her gif use is the reason behind most of every ten years richonne update. **

**Ps: I working on Judith grimes adventures. It is just massive. So until the fluffy Christmas suffer through Christmas and new year angst. **

**Please, review**

* * *

**Powder pink soul ( part I)**

* * *

She had said "no," and she had insisted that she deserved better than a Versace dress.

Rick had almost begged that she reconsidered her position. By no means, he was in love with her. However, she charmed him. She scared the loneliness, and she breathed life in him.

Michonne had said "no", and she had waited for her washed-out pink bubblegum dress to dry.

What Rick had offered mattered little. Not even the sizable amount of money for a few nights convinced her. Michonne had laughed at how ludicrous everything was. She had smiled at Rick. She had pecked his cheek.

They had gone to the bank for cash, and Rick had withdrawn more money than necessary for a blowjob, a good night of sex, and endless hours of conversation. A scrupulous prostitute, he had laughed at Michonne when she had some up her services. She wanted nothing more from him than the money she earned.

"Add the rest toward the Chanel dress, and I deserve more than a Versace."

Michonne had insisted. A stockbroker with value for his words, he had not bought her a Chanel dress. Although, it was not a Versace.

"Thanks, pretty boy."

* * *

"You look like a whore, beloved," Sasha says after a glance at Andrea's attire.

Michonne sighs, and she grabs a baby wipe to clean the eyeliner, which gives her a sultry look.

"She is one, so are you, and so am I." Michonne counters Sasha's statement.

The arguments between her roommates are the source of her headaches. She cannot stand the pointless bickering, and she cannot afford a decent place on her own.

"I don't deny it, Mimi," Sasha says with a smile, which only announces a remark that borders on cruelty. "Yet, I have never looked like one. God forbid, I embarrassed myself as if I do run on the streets."

She punctuates her statement with a murderous glance at Andrea. Michonne sighs, and she packs her stuff.

"Stay mad," Andrea laughs, "I still pull the best clients."

"If you did, you wouldn't be after mine." Sasha retorts.

Michonne looks at both women, and she could care less about their conflicts. She loves both, but they are insufferable. It is a hundred times worst in the holiday season. For god sake, who turns the entire Christmas eve into an endless night of argument?

"I'm going to visit, Evelyn," Michonne says as she leaves behind her arguing friends.

….

….

….

Michonne hears the steps behind her, and she does not care much. She continues to head toward the elevator of the semi-unaffordable building where she manages to scrap money to live.

"Mimi,"

Sasha rushes out of the apartment to catch up with her. Michonne does not turn her head at the call. She purposely refuses to entertain the craziness of her everyday life when she can afford to do it.

"Fucking wait, Mimi," Sasha shouts.

Sasha's jog quickly turns into a sprint, and she manages to make it before the door of the elevator, which Michonne forcefully desire to close, shut down.

"Were you trying to keep me from talking to you?" Sasha asks with frustration.

Michonne rolls her eyes, and she presses on the lobby button. She pulls her beanie on her barely attached dreadlocks.

"As if I can do that when you don't require my consent to start saying anything, Sasha." Michonne sighs.

She leans against the elevator walls, and she feels drained. Michonne hates the holidays season. It is endless days of loneliness and misery. Not always her misery but the dark melancholy of those who pay for her company strangles her.

"You're being extra bitchy tonight." Sasha disregards Michonne statement.

"Evelyn," Michonne replies.

"I had figured out," Sasha replies with a smile, "I brought her something. Nothing too big because I had to help with Tyler kids and mama, but I hope she will like it."

She searches her pocket, and she brings the small jewellery box out. Michonne looks at it, and a small smile spreads across her lips.

"You spoil her too much, and then, she begins to ask me for a thing like a Hermes bag."

Michonne laughs, and she pockets the small Swarovski box. She looks at Sasha, and she can tell the conversation will take a heavy turn.

"I fucking need a cigarette before we reach there." She says as they leave the elevator.

"I'm going to freeze my ass out," Sasha sighs, but she follows Michonne out barely prepared for the cold out. "Fuck."

"Two things are never cold," Michonne laughs, and she passes the cigarette to Sasha.

"I'm a polar bear," Sasha jokes.

….

…

….

For a few minutes, only the cigarettes burn, and the smoke leaves their lips. They try to hide from the wind. Sasha does not like the silence, and Michonne prefers quietness.

"I got something for you too," Sasha says while she pulls a decent amount of money, which oddly equates little to Michonne.

"Keep it," she immediately replies, "Ty or aunty might need it more. Can't be easy since he hasn't been able to walk?"

Sasha insists, and she struggles to shove the ten thousand in Michonne's hand.

"Yeah, but I got it covered. This is for you because I saved it for you." She insists.

Michonne reluctantly takes it, and she hugs her friend.

"I will give it back," Michonne says.

"Then I will shove it up to your ass. " Sasha replies.

For a few minutes, the silence returns. They breathe through the cold that hurts the lungs. It is a quiet moment of peace. A small break before they dive into the crack of hell.

….

….

….

"How is she doing?" Sasha asks between blows of smokes.

Michonne stares at nothing. She leans closer to Sasha, and she thinks about what she has to say or believe.

"She is alive so far."

There is nothing more sincere to say. Michonne has to touch her pocket to feel as if the money inside will keep everything that way.

"Better than before," Sasha adds to comfort Michonne.

They both look at the street expanding. There is so much to say, and the words sound meaningless.

"I don't think I can keep it that way," Michonne admits, "He doesn't matter if I live on nothing and give everything toward her health. At least I can afford her to breathe."

Sasha hesitates, and she looks at Michonne. She knows not to brush the subject of him. Six months after, it does not feel as if it is an isolated event.

"I can talk to Shane, and he will tell him that you changed your mind. That is good quick money, and you kind of like him enough to have him in a sort of arrangement." Sasha offers.

Michonne immediately closes herself to the conversation. She smiles at Sasha, and she laughs at her friend naivety.

"I have enough trouble," She replies, "That's a deeply broken man. It's impossible not to want to heal him. Then there is the drug. The work, the addiction. He is a man of addiction. I can't afford to be his new one. I'm not in these for the long run. I'm already tired of the rich man seeing in me a commodity. I don't need the delusion, which he can offer." She says what she told herself the month-long when Rick has done his best to get to her.

Six months later, she is happy he gave up. Michonne looks at Sasha.

"I can't get into crazy shit," Michonne sighs, "life is not kind with me. Go up before you freeze, and I would go visit Evelyn."

Sasha hugs Michonne, and she reluctantly drops the subject.

"I have a Christmas party, and I can't take that whore with me," Sasha says as she begins to head toward their building.

Michonne laughs, and it always feels adequate to laugh.

"She didn't get Shane. You need to let it go." She replies to Sasha.

"She tried to stop my biggest bag. I can't even tolerate her after that. If we could afford the rent on our own, she would be out." Sasha argues.

"What time?" Michonne asks, "Who?"

"Around eleven pm, and Wall Street dudes and their wives," Sasha replies.

"No…"

"Fifty thousand for nothing and the rest fixed with whatever client you get," Sasha announces.

Michonne cannot afford to say no, and yet, she does not have the luxury to agree.

"No stockbroker." She forces herself to say.

"In case you change your mind, I will text you the address."

* * *

Michonne removes her beanie and she immediately rushes toward the cupboard to check for the bill. She looks around the freshly arranged home, and their old apartment resembles a hospital room. She smiles at the nurse, who is gracious enough to leave the room before Michonne asks.

"Are you going to stay all night?" The voice is barely audible above the monitors.

Michonne sinks in the sofa by the bed, and she uncomfortably looks at the medical material. She does not think she is going to get used to the blipping and other odd sounds.

"Where am I supposed to go on Christmas Eve, Evelyn?"

Michonne takes Evelyn hand, and it means immediate comfort. The anxiety can disappear for a few seconds. She no longer looks at the room nor cares for the surrounding noises.

"This child," Evelyn manages to convey feigned annoyance.

It always surprises Michonne how the emotion has not to die from her voice. Every bit of emotion oozes from the whispers crawling out of her constricting.

"Can you have some respect and stop calling your mama by her name?"

She attempts to laugh, but it is more of a coughing fit, which would have sent Michonne in panic months ago. Now, it means than her lungs can still be of some use.

"I will think about it," Michonne replies.

She begins to go through the different bills. After a few seconds, she lets the paper and the envelopes lie on her lap. Michonne draws a deep breath. She cannot allow herself to display any emotion. The bright grin hides the crumbling mask. The money never seems enough.

"Did you have dinner?" Evelyn asks, and she struggles to sit, "have you been doing those stupid diets again?"

Her eyes follow Michonne curves with serious interest. She immediately sighs as she has the impression that her daughter is thinner than she was a week ago.

"Mama, I look thicker than a bowl of oatmeal. What are you talking about now?" Michonne counters.

They share a laugh, which is, fortunately, a common occurrence between mother and daughter. They laugh at the face of everything.

"Is it that top lawyer firm works you too much?" She asks, "You should quit if it is not good enough and ruin your health."

Michonne did quit nine months ago. Her position in the law firm was the bottom of the pole, and it meant no money. It was a prestigious job on the paper, but she could hardly afford oxygen therapy for Evelyn. She left her job after Sasha convinced her to check to escort. However, she has not dared to tell her mother.

"The money is good," Michonne says as an excuse for her choice of career.

Her eyes slide on the bills. The money is good, and she does not have to wait extra-long.

"I don't like out it sounds." Evelyn points out.

She wants to say more, but she is aware Michonne does not care to hear it.

"Well, did you eat?"

Michonne strays from the difficult topic. She does not ever think that Evelyn and she would ever discuss the topic of escorts. She returns the bills in the envelope.

"Michonne?" Evelyn stubbornly attempts to remain on the topic of Michonne's work.

"Mama," Michonne pleads.

She closes her eyes to will the patience and serenity. Michonne drags her knee toward her chin. She looks like a vulnerable child. She feels like a fragile kid. However, she cannot allow herself a second of weakness.

"How do you feel?" Evelyn compromises.

"Hopeful," Michonne brightly smiles, "as you should feel," she adds after squeezing her mother's hand.

Michonne does not like the look, which she receives as an answer. It is soft and hard. It carries a sort of pity for her naivety.

"We need to have that talk," Evelyn announces.

"No, we don't."

Michonne walks away from the sofa, and she goes to look at the snow falling. Someone must clean the window. She pulls on her sweater, and she begins to do it with the sleeves of her shirt.

"Michonne?"

"Sasha sent a gift for you,"

Michonne abruptly stops to clean the window, and she pulls the jewellery box out of her pocket. She puts it on Evelyn bed, and she hopes it can distract her. Evelyn does not care much for the blue box.

"Michonne,"

She grabs Michonne's arm, and so her daughter does not dare to move. It is a quiet face-off between mother and daughter. Michonne sits.

"I have seen the bills," Evelyn says matter of fact. She should have never read those cursed bills, "How can you afford it all."

No answer can be satisfactory. Michonne cannot afford it. Sacrifices, she does one after another.

"I'm not even talking about the transplant. A whole new set of lungs." Evelyn sighs, "I looked into Switzerland."

I looked into Switzerland is a beautiful way to say euthanasia. Michonne wants to hear nothing of it. She cannot afford any of it, but she does not mind the hardship.

"Don't worry about the money, I'm working toward it." She replies with fear that Evelyn demands how.

"Michonne, in Switzerland…" Evelyn insists.

Michonne does not want to hear the cruellest of the explanation. She does not want Evelyn to say help me die before it ruins you.

"I'm working toward the money. Can you just stay alive until then? Can you do that, mama?" Michonne quietly demands.

"I have seen the bills, and…" She cups Michonne's face, and she looks into her daughter's eyes, "That law firm can't be paying you that much money."

"Well, they do." Michonne refuses the argument, and she quickly erects the wall.

"Michonne," Evelyn knows that she wants to stay the entire night, as they both want her to do.

She should not have to brush the subject. The bills should not have pulled up. Only the drugs cost a soul. The oxygen is worth more than the life still clinging at her weaken flesh. Evelyn wants her daughter to know some of that ugliness. There is no point in being naïve.

"I will handle the bills."

* * *

Rick makes the Xanax pill pass with his third tumbler of scotch. He has missed half of the joke on the table, and he does not know why some are laughing. She clings at his arm, and she wants to fit in that small group.

Perhaps, it is why he chose her. When it comes crashing, it will able to move on without a scar. He looks inside his pocket, and he pulls a cigarette out. There is not much left inside the box. He does not know why he clings on such a small token. Michonne's pink cigarettes, which he rarely smokes unless he is losing his mind, warm his tongue.

He must be losing what remains of his sanity. Between the endless hour of work, the alcohol, the drugs, and the holidays, Rick has many chances to hallucinate it. He looks at his watch, and it is eleven pm. The music around him is infernal. Aside from its name, the party has nothing to do with Christmas.

A mass of high people being obnoxious about the money they made in a year, he is a fish in the water. He blows the smoke, and he focuses on her. She moves around the dancefloor, and she squeezes between people. It is hard to miss her, and it is harder not to look at her. We are far from the pink bubble gum ensemble.

We are in a softer tone. She loves to be at countercurrent. She wants to look like an angel in a place where the devil has enough standard not to visit. In powder pink dress, she looks like a nymph of summer.

"Give me a minute," Rick says as he disappears in the crowd to follow Michonne.

* * *

Michonne's feet dangle from the balcony. She does not know how she can hide. She is here for the money, but the joviality vaguely echoes with her melancholy. She notices his legs reflected in the glass balustrade.

"Hello," Michonne says as Rick comes to stop by her.

She does not raise her head to look at him. He looms over her like a larger than life figure. It is threatening and comforting.

"I wasn't wrong,"

He stands by her, and he leans on the balustrade. Rick does not care that she does not look at him. It might be easier than if she acknowledges him.

Michonne stands, and she looks at Rick. His hair is slightly longer, and the curls are slowly becoming waves.

"Better than any Versace, pretty boy." She replies as she twirls for him to see how well fitted is the dress.

She has a proud smile when she faces him. Michonne's hands come to rest on the corset of the dress. The satin fabric is comforting. There is an odd quietness. They seem to remember the quiet hour, which they spent in the Marquesa shop.

The glee that Michonne felt as she finally found the perfect powder pink dress. It was fitting. Something joyful and lively like she had appeared to be. Now, the dress is an odd choice. Something too springs for a Christmas Eve lacking soul. Rick smiles.

"Maybe you were right," He agrees. "Do you have a cigarette?"

Michonne dips her hand in her purse, and she drags out the same pink cigarettes, which Rick now saves as a relic. She lights it on her lips, and she takes the first blow. Michonne sits, and Rick accepts the invitation. She rests her head on his shoulder, and she passes him the cigarette. Her lipstick has left a stain on the pink.

There is silence, and the cigarette travels from her hand to his lips. Often, it burns in one of their hands. He sighs, and she drains her champagne flute glass.

"Your booze was better," Michonne says as she carefully puts the glass on the floor, "could have drunk that scotch forever, pretty boy."

"Rick," He corrects.

It does not matter how much she makes it sound endearing. Rick is not naïve enough to believe that she has never called another client that way.

"I haven't forgotten, Rick" she laughs, "It isn't for lack of trying."

Michonne is quiet. He was not wrong. She is too honest, and it is frightening. However, he cannot stop looking at her unravel with a quiet regret. Perhaps, he did not pursue her long enough.

"Scotch over champagne. " Rick extends his tumbler toward Michonne.

"No, I do prefer champagne," she replies to his assumption, "but this particular one is burnt. They must have allowed it to freeze multiple time."

"Here," Rick insists that she takes his tumbler.

She takes a gulp and returns the tumbler to his hand.

"Nothing but scotch," She grins.

Her smile is something divine. It completely illuminates her visage when it is genuine. Rick looks at Michonne's eyes as they echo her smile. Brown borrowing into an unfiltered honey shade under the balcony light, he remembers them perfectly.

"I'm off work," He explains.

"Never stopped your colleagues before, and I just got offered a line of heroine by the balcony." She counters, and she takes his tumbler, "What are you on tonight?"

"Sobriety," Rick replies.

He is a good liar. She wants to believe him. Therefore, she allows it to be a harmless lie. Michonne squeezes Rick's arm. Her nose randomly pokes the collar of his shirt. He smells different from their first meeting. He wears a new perfume. The scent fits him more, and it is rustic.

"Why?" Michonne asks after a while.

It could be a question meaning anything. However, Rick understands that she wants to know why he is suddenly inclined to sobriety.

"A dumb thought," He smirks, and he pointedly looks at her.

You are an honest response. You, it is what he does not bring himself to think. The notion of them is a dumb thought. The delusion of a moment drove him to think that a little effort might change the outcome.

"It wasn't the drugs," Michonne clarifies, "Maybe a bit of it."

"Xanax," He tells her the truth. "Baby steps."

Rick amuses Michonne. It is something from within, and it is comforting. She has forgotten the tumbler on her lap.

"You could have allowed me to feel better about myself longer." She twists a loose curl around her finger, and she ultimately tucks it behind his ear, "Honesty is overrated."

"I will try to stay away from cocaine for your sake, but I hardly use it," Rick says.

In a sea of addictions, it is easy to give up those, which might come to exist.

"Glad, I'm the reason for great change." Michonne keeps the same joking spirit.

"A heartbreak too," Rick confesses.

She left him heartbroken beyond what it should have been. Michonne rolls her eyes. She laughs at how sincere Rick is. She mocks herself for understanding what he means. The hurt of regret and hopes of what could have been create the worst broken hearts.

"The blonde is pretty," Michonne, says when she has laughed until her lungs are empty of air, "very kid-friendly and white picket fence."

Michonne saw her at Rick's arm. She saw him as soon as she steps inside the venue. Rick stood out by how unable he is to mingle. He somehow fits in with all the other soulless creatures at the party, but he is unique. She saw him, and she wanted to hide from him. He found her.

"Who?" He genuinely asks because he has long forgotten what lies beyond the bubble of their moment.

"The one who must be looking for you right now," Michonne looks back at the party, "The same one who has not been in such a party before, but she wanted to fit in your word." She points out at the crowd, but they both see her, "The basic yet lovely blonde."

No one to write home about, but she somehow looked like the obvious choice. Michonne thinks of the blonde personality. Tofu, plain and turned into anything one wishes. She must as tasteless as tofu. It makes her also hard to stomach.

"My fiancé, Jessie," Rick replies with apathy.

"Jessica," Michonne thinks she looks like a Jessica, "a sweet name." She looks at Rick, "Jessica and Rick, it has a nice ring to it."

He laughs at her antics. His hand disappears in her locks. She had a nice up-do until he begins to lose his finger in her hair.

"Maybe?" He replies because it helps the conversation, "You could have said yes."

They both agree on the form. She should have taken the offer. They would not be on the balcony at a party, which they don't want to attend. The night could have been different. She wonders if he likes hot cocoa. He believes that a diamond necklace would have been a proper gift for a contracted mistress. They are naïve and yet have enough lucidity to know that it is a transaction of affection.

"There wouldn't be the basic yet lovely blonde. " Rick must voice it.

Michonne laughs and it is to deny what he says. She does not call him a liar, but she points out that he believes a lie.

"She would have come in the picture sooner or later," Michonne argues, "after I fixed everything going wrong with you. She would have jumped in to be the wife. You don't like an empty home." She does not blame him for loving company, which he does not need.

"What is it?" He disregards what Michonne says.

He does not call her pessimist, but he shows her that through the ripples of her laugh, her sadness echoes.

"I don't need a hero," Michonne sighs with exhaustion.

"I need to be one," Rick confesses.

"What is her story?" Michonne asks, and she knows that Jessica is the demoiselle in distress feeding his hero complex.

"You will need to ask her. Something tragic I think. I didn't care beyond playing the hero." Rick is blunt.

His words do not shock or terrify her. She draws the line of his jaws.

"An asshole," she stares a fact long-established, "Can't you allow me to believe that you're somehow a sweet man whose life likes to beat to the ground?"

"I can afford to be an asshole," He replies

"Why?" Rick asks again.

If it is not the drugs, and he always knew, it did not bother her beyond a health concern. Therefore, he needs to know why she did not take his offer.

"You," She replies, and it is her first lie of the night.

Michonne no longer smiles. He hears the crack in her rich laugh. There is no point in keeping see-through walls.

"Does not explain anything," He has no gallantry to pretend that she fooled him.

"The narcissism," She says.

If she could put the conviction into it, he would take it. Michonne does nothing but to sound like a poor liar.

"The confidence," Rick corrects Michonne, "It's an honest mistake,"

"God's gift to humanity, "She attempts sarcasm.

Has she forgotten how to proceed? He laughs because he has backed her against the wall.

"No," He calmly says, "heaven-sent for you," Rick adds

"She is pretty,"

Michonne looks at Rick. It is a quiet admission that he has won.

"I think it's the first criteria of a trophy wife." He picks the tumbler from her lap, and he drains it, "I don't think I love her, and I'm certain I hardly like her."

It comes as no surprise to Michonne. She does not think that it is a surprise for the blonde woman. Rick is painfully honest.

"Can't you be a sweet boy?" Michonne laments.

"Would that convince you to reconsider?"

He laughs, and as for each of her other reasons for refusing his offer, it matters little. Michonne shakes her head.

"I don't fancy sweet boys. They bore me to death. I love my man bruised by life, needing me in some manners, and yet asking little of me. "Michonne looks at Rick.

"Still I'm not enough." He finishes the statement for her.

"You're perfect."

He knows, and it matters little. Rick rests his cheek against the crown of her head. He needs a deep breath. He chooses silence for a minute. They look at the night view. It is lights everywhere. The music remains loud. The party is not slowing. He needs a breath.

"Why?"

"I have responsibilities," Michonne replies, and there is a fraction of the truth.

"Oddly for an escort, you're too honest," Rick says, and he wishes that she could be a good liar.

"Judgmental," she calls him.

"Blunt," He teaches her the difference.

"She must be looking for you in every corner,"

Michonne is not going to give him the right answer. She is not going to share with him. They remain stranger.

"Maybe," Rick does not care if Jessie never finds him, "It is next month."

"When did you get engaged?" Michonne asks because it is a safe topic.

"Three weeks ago," He believes.

"Was it romantic?" Michonne curiously asks in search of comfort.

It could have been a beautiful romance. They could have had it if it did not feel like a luxury, which she could not afford.

"Cliché." Rick is not willing to comfort her with a story where she can erase Jessie to self-insert, "You're right I don't like empty home. I need someone to wait for me even if I never come back."

"I can't wait for anyone," Michonne admits, and she stands to return to the party.

She wants to hide from Rick. She does not want to spend Christmas Eve indulging in fairy tale fantasy.

"I know," He replies, "wait," he holds her hand.

She waits.

"I don't bachelor party," Michonne replies.

She waits.

"Seven hundred by the hour for a talk," Rick intertwines their finger, "I will pay."

Michonne sits by Rick, and her head returns on the spot where his shirt is now wrinkled.

"You don't need a talk," Michonne points out, "You're doing fine, pretty boy."

She is not doing fine, and she needs a talk. He knows it, and she continues to pretend. He gives her a cushion from the fall from her pride.

"Fine enough to earn a trophy," Michonne insists.

"Got enough cash for the entire night,"

* * *

"I don't like holidays season," Michonne says when the silence becomes too heavy.

She needs to speak, and so she does it about a meaningless subject. Nothing packaged as something.

"Don't we all," Rick replies.

He lights a cigarette, which he does not want to share with Michonne. There is a need for boundaries. There is the obligation to understand that hoping for anything is pointless.

"I hate the thought process behind it," Michonne continues her rant, "from the lights to the people everything is a spectacle. I hate the lack of quietness. It is too much fanfare for little joy. I hate the holidays."

Rick looks at her, and his arm closes around her shoulders. He drags Michonne impossibly close to him.

" I lied," he says" the illusion of holidays," Rick looks at Michonne, and he hopes that she understands," The idea of family and friends attach to, it is comforting."

Michonne sighs and she half-hugs Rick. Her face has disappeared in his chest. She scraps her face over the smooth fabric of his shirt. They do not care how he will explain the stain to the blonde.

"I lied too," Michonne reluctantly admits.

"I know," He easily manages to catch the new dynamic.

"I didn't want to say no," The words are no longer meaningless, and Michonne's glass castle crumbles from a stone, which she cannot help but throw, "Who can say no to a consuming fantasy?"

"You did," He points out that she repeatedly did it

"I have to," Michonne confesses.

"You got a pimp," Rick asks.

"What did I say about cliché?" She says with a fondness.

Again, he amuses her with his saviour complex. He is hardly able to save himself. Rick is a mess, a beautiful, charming, fascinating mess. Michonne smiles, and her thumb caresses Rick's jawline.

"Talk to me, "Rick insists.

"I did," Michonne replies, and she stands to leave, "The rest is a whore's tragedy, and I don't sell misery and pity." She says as she attempts to create distance, "I sell lust and sex, and you're free to afford both."

Michonne begins to leave, and there is no hand to hold. It carries a finality to it. It feels like a farewell, and not anything, a twist of fate can change. Michonne walks away.

"Wait," it sounds like a plea.

"I don't know how to wait," she replies.

Rick is on his feet, and he catches her before she steps out of the balcony.

"Michonne,"

Rick closes too him than he can afford. There is a quiet thought that he can add anymore on his plate. He does not have the means to nourish the seed, which he wants to plant.

"She must be tired of looking," Michonne smiles as she extracts herself from his grip.

Rick stares at Michonne, and she is probably the most beautiful woman that he has ever seen

"Who?"

"Jessica,"

"I'm not good at pretending, he admits" "I can afford a divorce," he has thought of his future married life not too different of the previous one, "I can afford a lot of shit,"

When Rick attempts to connect and reaches more than Michonne decides to display, she snaps with violence. She needs to establish where they stand to him, but she also needs it more than Rick does.

"I have a price," she hurls at him, "I'm not willing to pay it alongside you." She shoves him as far as she can "I don't like heartaches. I have a flair for tragedy." She becomes oddly quiet, and those words must remain whispers. If she does not say them aloud, they are not true.

"You're a heartache waiting to happen." Her palm rubs his face when she almost wants to claw at it for having the audacity to be the work of the gods, "Your dumb first wife must be picking the broken pieces of her heart. The dumber soon-to-be second wife looks too frail to handle it when you step over her heart." She laughs bitterly, and her voice continues to fade.

Rick watches her. He stands the assault of her fury and sudden inability to offer her bubbly side.

"I know men like you, pretty boy." She sighs, and she feels exhausted, "I know a heartbreak coming my way, and I can't afford that." She looks at him as if she wants nothing else but to welcome that cruel fate, "I don't own it."

Her hand comes to rest on her chest. Her manicured forefinger dig into her breast until it cuts.

"This, I don't own it."

Michonne begins to return the loose dreadlocks in her up-do. She focuses on fixing her appearance as if she wants to rebuild her walls. Rick takes her trembling fingers, and she brings her hands to her side. He quietly returns every loose lock to its rightful position.

"Evelyn needs me to remain focused, and you're a cursed distraction." She admits

There is no freedom in the confession. It feels as if shackles have bound her to rick.

Michonne does not expect any form of comfort, and so she does not know how to react when Rick' drag her to him. She stays in that awkward hug.

"Don't you dare!"

She tightens the hug, and nothing happens to matter. The beat of his heart is solid and comforting.

"Five thousand dollars up front for good sex," He says because he wants to help her rebuilt those walls, which he understands Michonne needs.

"No," she whispers in his chest.

For a few minutes, they exist in a bubble. The rhythm of Rick' heartbeat almost lulls Michonne to sleep. She does not remember the last night of decent sleep. Her fingers creep between Rick' fingers, and it is gauchely intimate. Perhaps, it is too intimate.

"A thousand for a blowjob."

She listens to him to make the effort to fix it. The words do not matter because he wishes beyond what they mean.

"Don't be a child," she laughs.

Michonne is not willing to share himself with Rick. She does not have to luxury to do it.

"A thousand if I go down on you," Rick sighs, and he would have to let her live.

There are better ways to say wait. She would not listen to those or any plea. He wants her to stay, and she would not do it unless it proves a point.

"I want to fuck you."

"A celebratory present for my wedding day," Rick agrees on giving up Michonne.

He tilts Michonne's chin, and so she looks up to him. He stares into her eyes, and he knows what she wants.

"What do you need saving from tonight?" Michonne asks.

She waits.

"Loneliness," he replies.

He closes the distance between their lips. Soft, slow, and tender, Michonne does not expect his caress to be. It is proverbially too late to turn tails. How deep can she fall for him?

Immediately, it becomes a frenzy. They have not cared much for the crowd partying in the next room. He drags her to the ground in a spur of passion. Michonne ends on top of Rick.

He rolls on the side to change their position, and Michonne's back connects with the cold tiles. His weight on her is almost suffocating. In a minute, Rick is ready to take her on the balcony floor.

There is no kiss. There is no caress. He is semi-hard. It is violence and reaction. Michonne is exhausted from wanting him. He pulls on her pretty dress, and she claws at his shirt. Her body melts into his, and the fabric of his shirt scraps her skin. His teeth scrape her neck as if he needs a bruise to show his claim of her. She manages to remove his shirt with more grace than he did as he plucked her dress from her body.

Michonne eagerly touches Rick's skin, and she watches his reaction to her. The goosebumps under her fingertips. The red trail after the caresses of her nails. The tiles are no longer as cool and uncomfortable. His weight no longer suffocates her, and she welcomes it. She wants him to crush her. She has long embraced the chaos that Rick is. Michonne brushes away the loose strand blocking Rick' view.

He kisses her neck, and he draws a path on her burning skin. His tongue explores every inch of Michonne's abdomen. Her skin flows under his fingers. Rick moans drown out each of Michonne's thoughts.

His lips are on her mound. Her thighs bear the mark of his caress. His name falls from her tongue in a soft prayer as his tongue suck on her cunt. She threads her finger in his gorgeous curl. A few ministrations of his tongue leads to her fall from the edge of pleasure. Her taste coats his tongue, and she kisses it away.

His fingers cage her face, and Michonne has no choice but to look at her. Rick has consumed as much of her sanity as she could spare. She feels vulnerable.

"No," her eyes cling to his eyes, and it is a quiet challenge.

Rick' knuckles caress Michonne's visage and his thumb draws her lips. His name intermittently falls from her lips as he thrusts in her.

Michonne's lips brush Rick' ones. She steals her breath from his lungs, and he demands intimacy. She is exhausted, and she wants nothing more than to be his. However, he comes with a heart that she does not want to protect as she protects everything else.

Her hands caress his cheek, and soft smile only meant for him. In this moment when la petite mort claim Michonne, Rick has never made her more his. A whore's sin, Michonne has committed the most unforgivable one.

Suddenly, the fear to lose him becomes haunting. Rick drinks the moans from Michonne's lips. His hands frame her neck, and his mouth draws a pattern of kisses to the curvature of her neck. His orgasm follows her. They lie on the cold tile with burning flesh. There is a heavy silence. Michonne wants to leave.

Rick keeps her plastered to the balcony floor. He nuzzles his nose to the crook of her neck. She smells more like him than she does herself. Her sweet citrus scent underlines the galangal of his perfume. The cigarette scent clings to their skin.

"Elope with me…"


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the reviews.**

**There is one chapter left for this fic. **

**Please, reviews** **I don't own the walking dead**

* * *

**Light mauve**

* * *

She pulls her curl into a bun, and he watches her get ready to leave as she always does at the end of their interlude. Each time is more painful. Each time, he does not think he can continue with their little affair.

He stands and grabs his pants. She never says much, and he no longer cares to try and change her mind. He opens the drawer, and he picks the stack of money. He efficiently does the math. She is expensive, but he might be in love with her. Sometimes until he pays her, he likes to pretend that she is more than his favourite whore who he pays regularly to keep her out of other men's bed. It helps with jealousy.

" Here," he finally dares to speak when he is ready to part ways.

She grabs the money stacks, and her face twists in her business-like expression. She immediately begins to count the money. He chuckles to hide the hurt and anger.

" I have never played you with your money," he cannot resist the impulse, and he sounds as annoyed as he feels.

She remains unbothered, and she continues to count meticulously each dollar.

" Others have tried," She calmly replies when she has the certainty that he has given her the correct amount of money, " but that is not the issue with you," she sounds annoyed, " here," she returns the thousand dollars, which he added.

" You talked about wanting new shoes last time," He refuses to take the money, which she returns.

She does not care, and she puts the money on his bed.

" fucking take it," He orders, and she rolls her eyes.

She annoys him. He hates her pride. She remains inaccessible to him. He cannot afford her, and she never ceases to remind him. It does not matter how many dollars he throws at her.

" What did I say about gifts the last time you tried?" She asks while she searches her purse for a cigarette.

She is rightfully angry. She hates it when he refuses to comply with her rules. He makes it hard to leave each time. She would have dumped him as a client if she did not cherish his company so much.

" Take it as a tip," He amends, and he wants to negotiate.

He needs the illusion that they could be a normal couple. He hates their contract. He almost wishes she had said no when he proposed to enter this farce. He wishes that she has allowed him to find ingenious ways to earn her affection.

" keep your money, Shane," Sasha kindly replies, " You need to stop." Her tone is stern.

Her fingers brush his jaws. Shane swats her hand. Sasha sighs, and she hates how their Friday nights always end. He takes the separation better on Mondays and Thursdays. Somehow, he wakes up to the illusion every Friday. Although, this is different. Valentine's day is around the corner.

" You don't say that when I pay you for whatever you do," He retorts.

Shane wants to leave the room. It feels like a prison. He goes and sits on the bed. He watches Sasha blow smoke and drains her cigarette. Perhaps, he wants to retain her. Therefore, he wants to start an argument, and so she can stay until she does not want to leave. For once, she should stay for other reasons than money. What a mistake it was to enter a contracted relationship with the perfect woman.

Shane always wants more, but he lacks the bravery to abandon the crumbs, which she is willing to offer. Therefore, he would pay for another night if she wants to take the money. The amount of money never matters, and he has enough to burn on a daily basis. The anger and the hurt are harder to pay, and yet he does it voluntarily.

" Don't do that," Sasha dismisses Shane. She cradles his face. Her look chastises him as if he is a petulant child, " I have to babysit my nieces tonight."

Some nights, she is kind enough to show him glimpses of her life.

" Take the money," He insists, and he always does when she allows him to gaze longer at her.

She should have never told him about those shoes. However, that night, she needed any form of conversation, which could warm her broken heart. She talked about vintage Hermes shoes, which she could not get for Christmas.

" Shane…" Sasha sighs, and she crouches to drag her shoes from under the bed.

"I want to make you happy," he says with certain exhaustion, " I can make you happy." He adds, and he is tired that she refuses to accept it, " For once, I want your head out of whatever shit has you doing this," Shane points out the door, " leaving." He breathes out of fear of such a simple word.

Sasha laughs, and she can do nothing else. She begins to wear her shoes. She shoves the money, which she earned in her purse.

"You want to make me happy," Sasha laughs humorlessly, "You're years too late." She says, " have you tried it with yourself." She asks while aware of the answer. " You're too old, too divorced, too broken, and too fucked to find it. You won't find it with me because I'm as broken as you're." She adds with a sharp cutting tone.

"You're a bitch," Shane states, and he picks the cigarette burning at the end of her fingers.

" professional deformation," She replies.

Shane chuckles, and he draws a blow from the cigarette. He holds the smoke until his lungs ache.

" Sasha?"

" I don't want the money," She replies, and she joins him on the bed, " babysitting can wait," she takes back her cigarette.

" What do you want?" Shane asks because nothing satisfies him.

* * *

Rick opens his door, and he does not welcome the intrusion. He rubs away the exhaustion. He is a bit too harsh, and the ring scratches his eyelid. He curses, and he opens his eyes to take in the scene. Rick's eyes stop over Shane, and later, they travel to Shane' s companion.

" I don't need a recovery whore," Rick groans.

He does not understand why Shane believes that he can find healing between the legs of the next whore.

" How much do you charge for the time you wasted?" Rick asks the woman standing by Shane's side.

She laughs at his antics. She stares at Rick, and it is enough to annoy him. She puts her hand on his door, and Rick pointedly looks at Shane.

" Can I come in before you throw money at me?" She replies with amusement.

She carries an air of nonchalance, which is too familiar. She asks but her confidence makes it an order.

"No," Rick deadpans, " Shane, take your girl away, and then come back because we need to have a conversation about this." He adds with disinterest for how it comes across.

" Can you shut the fuck up and let me place one in," Shane finally speak. He pushes Rick's door, " Go inside, Sasha," He adds with total disregard for Rick's disapproval.

" Sorry.." Sasha says while she squeezes between the doorframe and Rick.

Rick sighs, and he leaves the door. He walks to his living room, and he returns with his wallet. Rick pulls as much cash as he can find.

"Here," He extends toward Sasha, " Now, it is enough for a cab and for you to get the hell out of my loft." He forcefully places the money in Sasha when she shows no interest in it.

" a fucking gentleman Michonne said," Sasha rolls her eyes, " I guess you do pay for cabs ." She passes the money to Shane.

Rick freezes for a second. He looks at Shane with anger. They have explored the topic of Michonne more than they have talked of Rick leaving his fiancé the night after Christmas. They never talk about his ex-fiancé, and they have long ceased talking about Michonne. There is no use revisiting the past. There is no need to open fresh wounds.

"You can't keep your mouth shut. Who is she? Your favourite whore and your therapist." Rick says.

" You're an angry bastard," Sasha counters, and she remains unfazed when Rick glares at her, " This is why you don't fall in love with your favourite whore." She pointedly looks at Shane.

" He had issues before your friend," Shane retorts

. Shane turns to face Rick, and his expression is vocal. Rick sighs, and he walks to the bar. He told a tumbler, and he immediately drains it. A glass of alcohol is not enough if Michonne is the topic of conversation. Rick carries the bottle, and he takes a sip to find the courage to endure what should follow.

" What do you want?" Rick asks the pair with voluntarily displayed annoyance.

Shane looks at Sasha. He has no idea why she asked to meet Rick, but he was eager to do something for her. Is he a fool in love? Shane prefers to ignore the answer to that question.

" We need to talk about Michonne," Sasha does not beat around the bush.

Rick laughs, and he takes a big gulp of scotch. He looks at the bottle with frustration, and he might hate it because it reminds him of her. Rick throws the bottle against the wall.

"Fuck her," Rick says, " Is it enough conversation for you."

Sasha and Shane do not flinch at his reaction. They share aggravated looks. Shane goes to the bar, and he pulls out three tumblers, which he immediately fills with vodka. Scotch is no longer an option. Sasha lights a cigarette, and she takes a seat, which Rick never intended to offer.

" For what it is worth, she is sorry. She tried to do good by you." Sasha says with compassion, " but trying is just that." She adds with a shrug.

" oh, how kind of her. I don't give a shit. Fuck her" Rick replies with subdued anger. " For what it is worth, I don't give a single fuck about how sorry my wife is." He reiterates in case Sasha has trouble understanding.

* * *

**December 24th last year**

" Elope with me," Rick is not sure he heard Michonne right.

Michonne looks at Rick with a certain melancholy, and her eyes convey the anxiety. She waits for him to respond with some logical reasons why they should not elope. He has a fiancé and an okay life.

Rick stands, and he begins to wear his clothes. He picks the used condom from the floor, and he looks for a place to throw it. He passes Michonne her dress. She laughs with a sense of relief. He is reasonable for two. Michonne laughs because it is better than to shed pointless tears. She takes her dress, and she wears it.

" We have to swing by my place," Rick says, and he extends his hand for Michonne to hold.

She blinks in confusion. She waits for Rick to rephrase his rebuttal. He does not clarify his statement, and he patiently waits for her hand. Michonne stops moving. She stops laughing. She inhaled until her lungs threatened to implode. She lunges to him, and she jumps in Rick's arm.

She surprises him, and he almost does not catch her. Michonne presses her lips against Rick's forehead. They make precious fools. What beautiful idiots they are. Michonne can help but to think that way. Michonne has always foreseen the future. She understands how much of endearing lunatics they are. She wraps her legs around his waist. Her arms around his neck tightly hold him. Michonne kisses Rick with no care for the world.

" Do you want to marry me?" She asks for reassurance.

Rick laughs between the kisses. He is not familiar with laughing out of pure euphoria.

"Tonight is not an option, but tomorrow, I will."

* * *

She accompanies him to his loft. They kiss by the door while he fumbles with his keys. He kisses her with her back pressed against the wall. Fortune has it that he owns the floor, and so they do not have to worry about the neighbour interrupting. They laugh more than they kiss. They laugh as much as they breathe. Rick eventually opens the door, and they spill into the loft.

"Ouch," she groans because he is heavy.

Rick stands, and he pulls her up with him. They laugh because it is fitting of the moment. He drags her by the hand, and she happily follows. She does not intend to return to her apartment until she marries him. Michonne does not trust her resolve. She wants to elope. She needs to elope.

" The blue one, it matches your eyes." She says when he shows her two shirts.

She watches him pack his bag. She picks his shirt. She jokes about her future housewife status. They laugh until it hurts.

" Don't change your mind!" Rick says when Michonne abruptly becomes silent.

He wants to elope. He needs her. He deserves to laugh from happiness.

Michonne stares at the ceiling. She extends her hands toward the roof. She turns to lay on her back, and she smiles at Rick. They are happy, and it feels stolen and odd. They hold to it.

" Michonne Barnes, twenty-eight years old. I hold a master in criminal law. Your turn," she asks with curiosity, " Now, that you know more about your future wife, tell me more about my future husband." She sits with her legs under her knees.

Michonne's smile is bright. She is gorgeous. She is his future wife. Although, the last bit sounds crazy. He learned her surname seven seconds ago. Rick leans toward Michonne, and he kisses her.

"Richard Grimes. You wore diapers when I was eight." She rolls her eyes at the comment, " I'm thirty-six years old. Third soon to be a second-best stockbroker in Wall Street. Your future husband." He adds with the inability to contain his bliss.

Rick finishes packing his bag. She does not complain when he adds his computer. She leaves the bed, and she returns with the charger for his computer.

"I'm not marrying you under influence," She says when she notices the bag containing his pills.

"It's not influence," Rick argues, but he drops the bag on the bed.

"Thank you," she picks the bag.

* * *

He watches her move around his room with ease. She belongs in his life. She stops his starch on his desk.

" I want a honeymoon without an O.D," Michonne casually tells Rick.

He laughs because he does not believe he is an addict. He loves his job, and he often finds ways to make it easy. He laughs, and it is an odd thing to be happy. There is a dreadful feeling that he does not deserve happiness, and so he wants to guard it jealously.

"Which side of the bed do you prefer?" Rick asks while he closes his travel bag.

Michonne looks at his California king size bed. She wants to pick new bedsheets. Those left behind by Jessica are ugly. She wants bedsheets, which would make her his wife. It is an odd way to think, but she hates the bedsheets.

" far from the window," She answers, " I don't mind which side as long as the sun doesn't wake me up. " She adds to her first answer.

Michonne proceeds to remove her dress, and she heads to the bathroom.

"You're not a morning person. What else should I know?" Rick asks while he joins her in the bathroom.

She stares at the shampoing and the different soap. There are so many of them that she looks at Rick with almost confusion.

" You don't need them all," She asks while she proceeds to look through the different labels to find out the scent.

" Mint and citrus are the only ones I use. I hate the scent of peppermint." He tells her.

Every small information steers a small joy in Michonne.

"But you like mint. How does it work?" She asks with a teasing expression.

He laughs, and he begins to find it normal.

" one smell like mint, and the other smell like peppermint." Rick answers, and Michonne rolls her eyes, " I don't make the rules."

They are silent when she draws her bath, and she does not pick mint or peppermint. She picks lemon and pomegranates. Rick will remember that detail months later. He is certain he will remember it all his life.

"I'm allergic to seafood, I hate country music. I have a sweet tooth. I have no siblings. My shoe size is six and a half, and my feet are cold at night." She tells him because she wants to talk about her. It is a rare thing, and she dislikes talking about herself.

" I grew up in a small town in Georgia. I love country music. Peanut, I'm allergic to peanuts. I'm up by five the day when I sleep, which is not often. What else is worth knowing about me." He takes a few seconds to think, " Don't move my shampoo bottle from their spots or it's the beginning of chaos. Is that enough information for you?" Rick finishes.

Michonne nods, and she wants to discover what he cannot remember. She needs to experience him through everyday life.

She continues to set the water for her bath. Rick watches Michonne, and he commits to memory every detail. She loves citrus bath bombs, and he would have to get more. The water is cold, and he never met anyone who takes cold baths. It makes Rick smile. She is an odd woman.

" Do you want to join me ?" She inquires after his curious look toward her.

Rick sits at the corner of the bathtub. There is water on the side, which wets his pants, but he does not care. He shakes his head to reject the offer to join her.

" I don't take baths, and certainly not with another person inside. The germs," he explains.

Rick searches his pocket, and she discovers that he is constantly smoking. He places it on his lips, and he immediately enjoys the rush of nicotine. Michonne fills the empty boxes about her future husband, who loves country music and is allergic to peanuts. He has a germophobia.

" You're an odd one, Richard Grimes." She sighs and dips under her bath.

When Michonne resurfaces, foam covers her face. Rick laughs, and it hurts less each time he does it. The sensation of muscle pulling becomes familiar.

She is quiet in her bath, and he enjoys watching her. They are comfortable with silence. Generally, Michonne hates silence. It gives her time to think. However, she cannot think in Rick's presence. She loves silence next to him.

" What happens if you change your mind?" Michonne asks while she drags her body out of her bath.

" I will pay you for tonight, but you have to wait for the morning to find out."

* * *

Rick does not change his mind. He is excited, and he is happy. Michonne still wants to elope with him when morning comes. Rick pays for the plane ticket to Vegas.

He finds an engagement ring in the duty-free area. She insists on paying for his ring. She picks something that she believes he would like.

" Let me see," Rick says when she returns with the small jewellery bag.

She refuses, and she shoves it in her purse. He lets her look at her ring. It is an odd piece, which they find endearing. A solitary diamond of an obvious size without being extravagant and she loves her light mauve diamond.

Michonne does not change her mind when he sits by her side with his computer on his lap, and he begins to work. She watches Rick engrossed in his number. She still wants to elope when she discovers that he lied. Rick Grimes cannot hold a promise. He drags the bottle of pills out of the small pocket of his backpack.

" bad placement and I need to focus." Rick offers as a form of apology.

He takes the Xanax. She takes it for what it is, the excuses of an addict. She leans toward him, and she rests her head on his shoulder. They will not change their mind. Their flight leaves New York with the couple on board.

* * *

Michonne is not sober, and she does not believe she needs sobriety for a wedding with Elvis as a priest. She likes the taste of the champagne, which Rick picked. She will remember for a year that Rick Grimes knows his alcohol.

" You can see me before the wedding," Michonne's slender fingers cover Rick's eyes. " Rick," she argues when he kisses her.

Michonne attempts to slide in her wedding dress. She is happy that she picked something sober and elegant. It is easier to wear while tipsy.

" I helped you pick the dress, and turn around." Rick counters and he helps her zip the dress.

She twirls to show how well the dress fits, and she did the same two hours ago when she dragged him to the fitting room. It is a Chanel dress as she initially wanted. The white silk is perfect, and the spaghetti straps are like Michonne wanted.

" We're going to be late, Richard."

Rick has discovered that she resorts to using his full name when she wants to chastise him.

" Does it matter? We have no guest," Rick counters, " and you want it as much as I do." He bites her earlobe.

He already knows that her earlobes are erogenous zones. His tongue runs along the curve of her neck, and he places a kiss on the crook of her neck. Rick's hands push the skirt of her dress higher.

" My dress matters," Michonne reluctantly swats Rick's fingers as they graze her thighs.

He is aware of the satin texture of her skin. Rick's knees part Michonne's legs. He is careful while he lifts the hem of her dress, and he has a hand full of fabric.

" My dress," she unconvincingly cries when it sleeps from Rick's fingers.

He silenced her protests with a passionate kiss, and she wraps her arm around his shoulder. He backs her to their hotel bed. She returns his passion. Michonne eagerly undoes his belt, and in the rush of passion, Rick breaks the strap of Michonne's dress. Her perky breast spills in his hand.

" I will get you another one," he says before she can cry about her ruined wedding dress.

However, Michonne could care less about fabric. She only focuses on his weight, and the stretches, which his manhood causes in her cunt. She moans, and she grasps his shirt. She quickly loses herself to passion, and it is the first he does not pay for sex with her

* * *

She does not want another dress, and it does not matter how much he insists. She loves her wedding dress, and so they settle for finding a needle and threads.

" I'm sorry," Rick says as he kisses the crown of her head.

She smiles and continues to sew the straps of her dress. His clothes are in no better state, but he packed a bag. Rick changes into a new dressed shirt.

"It's a wedding, not a funeral." She points out with a small smile.

" I look good, Chonne."

She does not know how to react to the affection in his voice. Michonne chooses to laugh. She laughs, and he kisses her.

* * *

They are late for their wedding like Michonne predicted. Rick Grimes has no notion of a quickie. They have to book a new time slot for the ceremony. They do not change their mind during the five hours of waiting. The sober up the hour before the wedding.

" Here," Rick passes to Michonne a kit Kat, which he drags out of his pocket.

Her smile is toothy and beautiful. Last night, he learned that she loves kit-Kat. She would offer him half of the chocolate barre if she did not learn his dislike of chocolate.

" Here," she walks to Rick's backpack where her bouquet lies. " Before you lose your mind," she gives him his computer.

Rick's sanity rests on how productive he is in a day. His work might be his obsession.

" There is no Wi-Fi, " Rick replies.

Michonne pulls out her phone, and she turns on the hotspot.

" Now, there is Wi-Fi." She proudly retorts.

Rick stares at Michonne. Her locks rest in a bun, which his fingers have partially loosen. Loose strands fall in every corner, and she has given up the fight for her sight. Rick pushes some loose strands behind her ears.

" A few months down the road, you're going to hate my job." He knowingly says.

" I already hate it," Michonne smiles.

* * *

Their vows are nothing worth remembering. Michonne hardly remembers what Rick says between the slurred speech and her spinning head. However, she begins to think that she may love him.

Rick has a better grasp of what Michonne says in her vow. It is not the biggest love declaration, but she says sweet words.

* * *

Their honeymoon is a quiet night. Music plays on her phone, and she is by the toilet seat. Rick holds her locks.

" No more champagne for us," Michonne laments.

Rick laughs, and he never thought he would take care of his drunk wife during their first night as a married couple.

" Good," he agrees, and he passes her the water bottle.

After a few minutes, they exchange cigarettes and childhood stories. There are no traumas in their childhood. He is a trust fund baby, and she is a middle-class child. They both went to Ivy League schools.

" Yale," she guesses wrong.

" Dartmouth," He corrects with a roll of his eyes.

" Princeton," she replies before he can make a guess. " You picked up drugs in college." She attempts another guess.

" My first internship in a big firm. I want a job without dad's help. " Rick corrects, and he watches her water bottle.

Michonne picked smoking in high school, and Rick guesses right. She wanted to fit in with the cool kids. He was always the cool kid. There are many more things, which they do not share because it is an ugly reality. The silence follows a long conversation about nothing

" A song only one," Michonne says, and she waits for Rick to play what he considers a classic of country music.

Rick takes a dozen minutes to pick the perfect song. It is not what Michonne expects when the first notes play.

" Can I have this dance?" Rick takes her hand.

It is odd to have their first dance in a bathroom smelling like vomit and alcohol. The song only makes it odder.

" Your only chance to play country music, and you choose to play Sade," Michonne says between laughs while he makes her spin with no care for the rhythm of the song.

" I have my life to convert you into a country music lover, but our first dance to my favourite song is a one-time thing." He kisses her.

Of course, Rick Grimes' favourite song is king of sorrow. It is another fitting detail about her husband. Michonne returns his kiss with tenderness. He lifts her from the floor, and she wraps her thigh around his waist.

He makes quick work of her wedding dress, and the straps are again the victim of his eagerness. Michonne is less in a rush, and she wants to enjoy every second of it. She slowly undoes his buttons. She peppers his face with kisses. She laughs when the song ends, and the next one to come one is about dirt roads.

He steals her joy with a suave kiss. She pushes his shirt from his shoulders. Rick's caresses are feather-like, and he holds her with care. He might love her. His touch is delicate and tender. He understands how precious the night is to Michonne. It is beyond sex. She enjoys every kiss, and she is louder than he remembers. She welcomes the sweet nothing whispered in the hole of her ear. She searches and holds his enamoured look.

Michonne comes undone in many ways.

* * *

When he takes the week away to pursue his honeymoon, Michonne thinks Rick will change his mind about their marriage. He has never been on holiday, and it is an odd thing. She closes his laptop.

" five hours a day and nothing more," Michonne states as she sits on his lap, " Is this your idea of holidays?" She says while she kisses the tip of Rick's nose.

Another thing to learn about her husband, he does not understand the concept of vacations.

" My very naked wife on my lap sounds like vacations," Rick teases her, and Michonne laughs.

She loves his dry humour.

" I have to be creative if I want your attention," She counters.

Rick cradles her face, and his thumbs caress her skin glistening with a thin layer of water. She smells like his bath soap.

" It's more than sex," he softly tells her, or he asks her.

" which is why I booked activities that we have to do out of this room. Let's pretend to be obnoxious tourists. "

* * *

Michonne does not regret eloping. Although, Rick makes her night hell. She immediately learns that Rick Grimes lives to win and conquer. With an empty martini glass, she fumes with anger and frustration.

"Here, you're."

Rick rests his chin on Michonne's shoulder.

" I won," he proudly announces.

Michonne sighs, and she moves away from his touch. She leaves the bar stool, and she draws a deep breath.

" You won at the blackjack table. You won at the poker table. Is there anything left? A corner of this casino left unexplored." Michonne rolls her eyes.

Why did she waste her day? Why did she plan all these activities?

" You're mad," Rick confusedly asks.

Michonne discovers that her husband can be an idiot. She leaves the bar with Rick on her toes. She waits for the door to close to hurl her anger. Tonight, Rick discovers that Michonne hates public scenes.

" We missed Celine Dion' s show because you chose to play poker," Michonne draws a deep breath, and she goes to the bathroom to calm herself.

" You should have gone alone," Rick joins her.

Michonne discovers that her husband is a big fool who wants to drive her insane.

" I don't like Celine Dion. You do, Richard." Michonne points out, and she can help but laugh at the situation.

She does not regret eloping with the idiot facing her with an apologetic expression. Rick takes Michonne's hand, and he drags her to the sofa. He sits her on his lap.

" Is that bad?" Rick asks with genuine concern, " Can we get tickets for tomorrow and no more casino for me?"

Michonne caresses Rick's cheeks, and she smiles.

" I don't want to go watch a Celine Dion' s show." She confesses.

* * *

They elect the circus. Michonne loves the circus. Rick does not regret marrying her when she spends the night laughing. He feels proud to be her husband when she hides her face in his shoulder every time the trapezists do something dangerous.

" This some dumb show," She argues, " why would anyone wants to be so far from the floor." Michonne adds, " Can it end already?"

It does end, and the magic spectacle begins. Michonne watches it with childish fascination.

" Sweetheart, there is a trick behind everything," Rick says every five seconds.

" Shush, Richard," Michonne replies every five seconds, " I want to enjoy the show."

Rick rolls his eyes, and he picked the habit from her.

" It is a dumb show."

" You're the life of the party, babe," Michonne sarcastically replies.

It is the first time that she uses endearment. Michonne does not regret it.

" I would be happy if it was anything I enjoyed."

* * *

He enjoys how loud Michonne is when he hits her spot. She clings to his sweat covered body, and her nails dig in the scratches of last night. Michonne adds new ones. She likes to look in his eyes when he makes love to her.

She cherishes the show of emotions in those troubled seas. Michonne sinks her teeth in his shoulder, and she endures his trusts. His caresses are tender, and his kisses are passionate.

"Michonne…" his mind struggles to organise words.

She feels so good around him. He does not have to expand for Michonne to understand what Rick needs.

" Yes," she breathes out with eagerness.

Rick carefully wraps his fingers around Michonne's throat. He squeezes at each of his trust, and he slowly releases her throat when he leans to lick her jaws.

Although, she assumed from his personality that Rick was into bondage and masochism. He took two days of their married life for any form of rough play. She does not like him as much as he does, but she often lets him explore some kinks.

" Fuck," he breathlessly murmurs when he feels her pulse slow under his finger as he squeezes, and Michonne's nails sink deeper in his back.

Her thumb draws the curve of his lips, and he sucks it. She rolls her hips to match his strokes. He stops when she is close to an orgasm.

" Rick," She sobs when he slows his strokes to nothing but tip penetration, " babe, please."

Rick threads his finger between her locks, and he pulls her head back until he reveals her neck. His tongue draws the line of her elegant neck. He kisses her jaws.

" Please what?" His tone is authoritative, and he punctuates his question with a bite in the crook of her neck. He presses his thumb on her clitoris.

" Please, let me come. " She says what he needs to hear.

" Good girl."

She never knew praise kink was her thing until he made it her thing. Michonne does not regret marrying Rick Grimes five days into what should last a lifetime. She hates that he wakes up at five to get some work done. She cannot stand that he does not enjoy his vacations. She knows that he lied about the Xanax, and she has searched the entire room for the hard drugs.

" I don't want to go back," Michonne says after taking a blow from his cigarette. " Can we stay forever in this room?"

" I have to work."

Michonne does not expect a different answer. She smiles, and she rests her head on his chest.

" When you're ready to tell me why your work is all you have," Michonne says, and she closes her eyes.

" Have you begun to change your mind?"

Michonne laughs, and she kisses Rick. She does not believe it would ever happen. He makes her happy. He reminds her to laugh. She loves him.

"No."

* * *

Rick wakes up, and he wants their last day to be memorable.

"Sweetheart," he calls when his hand comes empty when he reaches from the side away from the window.

He senses it with dread. She has changed her mind. However, he foolishly hopes. He does the effort not to burn the pancakes. He opens the closet, and her clothes have not moved. His shirt is missing. Her wedding dress is gone. She has left. When he spends two days waiting for her to return, Rick has to admit Michonne has left.

For weeks, she does not pick her phone. He supposes she has changed her phone number. He never thought to look for her address. It takes a month before he receives the divorce paper. He does what she did with his calls. He ignores the divorce papers. He continues to wear his wedding ring. He works to the point of exhaustion. He regrets eloping with Michonne.


	4. Chapter 4

**I don't own the walking dead**

**If angst is not your thing, I warned before, and so don't have a break down in the review**

**Thanks for the reviews,**

**Please, review**

* * *

**Powder Pink Soul (Part II)**

**.**

* * *

Rick waits for Sasha to find a way to excuse Michonne's behaviours. Pathetically, he needs to cling on any word, which validates how he felt before the impressive fall from grace. Rick empties the tumbler of vodka.

The silence stretches between them. Rick can no longer endure the trip down the memory line.

"That's what I thought," Rick finally says after self -imposed torture, "Get out!" He asks with a tone, which expresses the height of his frustration.

Sasha does not move. Despite Rick's anger, she remains unfazed.

"I will leave once I have said what I need to say," She states with calm. "You got it better than she did," Sasha continues to speak even if Rick could care less for what she has to say. "Whatever she did to you, she is doing worse to herself." Sasha's facade cracks, and her desperation begins to slip through her words. "I tried to help...I did what I could, and It's not enough. It barely helps." She sighs.

Sasha begins to search in her pockets, and she pulls a packet of cigarette. She stops to smoke for a few minutes.

"You're part of the problem, and you should fix it." She finishes with a deep breath.

Rick stares at Sasha with amusement and confusion. Did she miss a bit of his sappy story? Can she see what has become of his life since he met Michonne?

"What do you want?" Rick sounds as exhausted as he feels. "I'm not going to sign those fucking divorce papers. When she wants it, she can come to see me herself." He adds with determination. "Now, fucking get out of my home."

Rick stands to leave the room. He does not care to hear more. Shane will handle the mess, which he created.

"Last week," Sasha pauses.

She hesitates on what to say. She walks to pick her coat, and she returns with it. She searches her pocket, and she pulls out the pill container.

"I'm sure these shit are yours." She hurls the container at Rick's chest. "I fucking have to walk with them around because god knows what will happen if she gets her hand on it again."

Rick looks at the pills spread on the floor. He does not react at Sasha's sudden burst of anger. He is exhausted, and he does not want to have a conversation.

"Michonne is strong," Sasha's voice trembles," I don't know if she wanted to...She is fucking powerful. She wouldn't do that." she laments. Sasha returns to the sofa, and her head falls in her hands. She needs a minute to think. She needs a second to breathe. "She says it was an accident." Sasha stops to breathe. "She almost drowned in a bathtub, and she swears she fell asleep." She continues with a breaking voice. "I found her right on time. I know she didn't fell asleep. She was high on this shit." Sasha points at the pills on the floor. "Michonne, she insists it was an accident, but she is fucked up. You fucked her up. Life did worse, and her mother broke her. So, I get it. It might have been an accident, or she might have wanted to die."

Rick stops, and he turns to look at Sasha. He is uncertain of what he heard. However, he is sure of what he lived.

"She left me on our honeymoon," He furiously repeats. "One morning, she woke up and left. She got whatever thrills she needed, and she left. She left." He repeats over and over.

He needs Sasha to understand his anguish. He found the woman who had him head over heels, and she left without a word. She picked her wedding dress, one of his shirt, and a backpack. She left her clothes and him.

Rick kept hope because she left her clothes. Ultimately, she asked for a divorce.

"She left," Rick struggles for breath, "and I fucked her up."

"She had to..." Sasha quietly replies." She didn't mean to leave, or at least, she never planned to leave that long."

* * *

**December 31st (Two months ago)**

When the rays of the sun hit her face, Michonne groans. She hates it when Rick leaves her so satiated that she cannot move. She slept on the wrong side of the bed. Michonne passes her hand on the other side of the bed, and she does not expect to find Rick lying there.

Every day, Rick is out of the bed by five in the morning. He does not matter that he wakes up so early. Rick is as quiet as a church mouse when he is working.

When her hand clasps on muscles and skin, Michonne is surprised. Rick soundlessly sleeps. She moves closer to him to snuggle. Rick whines when she squeezes her cold feet between his thighs.

She hides her face from the sunlight by resting her head on Rick's chest. The rhythm of his heart is soothing. Michonne anxiously thinks at the end of their honeymoon. She has already begun to work on a speech to explain her situation. She wants to tell him about her mother. She thinks of telling how he would have to wait before she makes him the centre of her universe. She prepares to open herself to him.

Michonne is slightly excited to return to everyday life with Rick. She wishes to build a life with him. She wants a routine with Rick Grimes. She is going to stop. Michonne has made enough money to pay for the transplant. She was only continuing to work as an escort because she has to pay for Evelyn's everyday care. Until she can find a donor, she has to remain alive. Daily medical care and assistance cost a lot of money.

Michonne wants to find a job. She has not worked the specific, but she has a plan. Her speech to Rick will highlight that plan. Michonne is happy, and she deserves every second of her happiness. She leaves the bed with a heart filled with joy. She begins to cook breakfast. She never has the chance to make breakfast because Rick is always the first awake. She is not as good as he is behind a cooker, but she can cook a decent breakfast when she tries.

In the middle of her happiness and breakfast cooking, Michonne's phone rings. She runs toward it, and so Rick can continue to sleep peacefully. However, it stops ringing before she grabs it. The screen light turns green, and it begins to flicker. Michonne listens to the voice note. It is a few words, which would profoundly change her life.

"Hi, Michonne! It's Doctor Cruz's office. We have an urgent update on Evelyn's position in the recipient list, and it would be perfect if you could schedule an appointment to discuss the specific. The doctor would be taking his vacations tomorrow. If you can, I will recommend to you to come in the afternoon."

With their night flight, Michonne has to rethink her options. However, God might be on her side with her plan. She does not think beyond the instant euphoria. Michonne forgets to leave a message explaining the situation. She does not write a note to inform him of the meticulous plan in her mind. They should meet in New York. She hurries, and she does not make a bag. Michonne reaches for Rick's backpack. It is the one, which he carried during their wedding.

It contains her wedding gown and his shirt. At the door of the hotel penthouse, she remembers to switch off the stove.

Between the hassle to find an urgent flight and her excitement to see months of misery end, Michonne forgets that she did not write a sweet and loving note to her husband. She always writes a word when she leaves the room without him. Which is why for a long time she believes that she wrote that message.

* * *

Michonne barely makes it to the appointment. She anxiously waits for Doctor Cruz's assistant to announce her name. It is forty minutes of a painful wait before she finally walks into Doctor Cruz's office. She takes the same seat, which she always occupies in his office. It is a small and comfortable sofa meant for people like her, who often come to the hospital. The people with whom the medical personal begins to form an attachment.

"Hello, Michonne," Doctor Cruz says, "How are you? How have been your holidays?"

Now looking back at it, she should have noticed the oddness of the moment. Perhaps, she was too giddy to notice that a stern man like Doctor Cruz was wasting time on small talks. He never did it before not even when he announced Evelyn's prognostic with and without a new pair of lungs.

"I'm good, and the holidays..." Michonne wants to shout on the roof that she got married to a man, who she loves. She refrains because Evelyn should hear it before everyone. "They were better than I expect, and yours?"

"I will take them tonight," He sighs, "Quite needed." He has never been eloquent, and small talks are not his forte.

"You wanted to see me about the receiver list," Michonne cuts short the niceties, "Something new, has she made it to the top of the list?"

Doctor Cruz pauses. A silence, which is too long to mean anything good, continues for a few seconds. His expression reveals everything.

"Have I explained to you how the list works?" He asks while being aware that he did a dozen time in the last months.

"There are a few criteria to fill. Depending on the urgency, there is a ranking on the list." Michonne replies.

She has extensively read those criteria.

"Absolutely," Doctor Cruz pauses, "One of those criteria is viability. Will the organ remain viable in the recipient? It's the most crucial point. Organs are rare, some more than the others."

Michonne has already heard that pitch. She could finish his sentence.

"And so we can't waste organs on non-viable receivers."

The choice of words is poor.

"Evelyn is no longer viable." Doctor Cruz says.

Michonne blinks, and she has heard him. However, she has not listened to him. She certainly does not understand.

"We did a control CT, and we always check on the progression of her cancer. This time we found metastasis on different organs and extensive bone cancer. A lung transplant won't help her. She has no chance of survival. We have to withdraw her from the list."

After those words, Michonne is unsure of the nature of the conversation. Something about palliative care and ways to accompany the patient. She must have shed a few tears because Doctor Cruz awkwardly hugs her. It all ends with a "thank you."

From that second, Michonne forgets that she has a plan. She does not remember that she wanted to surprise her husband at the airport. Michonne does not allow herself the luxury to think of her happiness or herself.

Rick is part of her happiness and an extension of herself. Evelyn, Michonne only thinks of her dying mother.

* * *

Planning euthanasia is hectic. Even for a merciful and dignified death, there is a list and criteria to fit. The process takes a toll on Michonne, and she refuses to dwell on it. How damage, she becomes with each conversation, she continues to ignore the pain.

Evelyn takes the new with almost relief. She always knew it would end tragically. It is a thing about the proximity of death. If Michonne had listened, she would have known too.

Michonne contacts many clinics in Switzerland. Even death has a price, and the money for the transplant will cover the expense. On the multiple clinics, which she calls every day, many refuse to handle Evelyn's death due to the complicated logistics.

Ultimately, Michonne receives a call. On that odd day, she thinks of Rick for a few second. It has to do with her misplaced happiness.

"The seventh," Michonne repeats as she receives the date for an interview with the euthanasia clinic. "If the interview is a success, she would go through the process the following week." She only repeats what she hears.

It is nothing to celebrate, but it is a victory.

Michonne does not talk about what is coming.

She does not sleep at night.

She barely eats.

Michonne survives day after day.

She does not want to talk about her mother. She plans Evelyn's death day and night. Talking is pointless. What she often does is smoking. She smokes every second. Evelyn is dying from lung cancer, but Michonne's solace is nicotine and a balcony to dangle her feet over the city. Death wishes linger in her mind. She makes it to the following day.

….

…

…

"You have to do well at your interview, mama," Michonne explains as she realigns Evelyn's oxygen mask. "We're still waiting for the other clinic to reply. This is a solid chance."

It is a peculiar conversation to have in an airport. Rick bought Michonne's wedding ring in this airport. She picked his wedding band in the duty-free jewellery shop across from her. Michonne has not removed her ring. Evelyn has yet to ask about the light purple diamond on her daughter's finger.

In the airport, Michonne cannot ignore those thoughts of Rick. Two weeks have passed since she left. She has ignored many calls, Rick, Sasha, and anyone who was not calling from Switzerland.

"I will be back," Michonne says, "I need to head to the bathroom." She adds a smile to reassure her mother.

Michonne looks over her shoulder to make sure that Evelyn's nurse is doing her job.

…

…

…

Michonne wants to call Rick. She is uncertain of how she left, but she assumes her radio silence is driving him insane. In the week, which they have spent together, she has learned that he loves communication. He does not move a finger without telling her, and he expects her to do the same. It is part of his controlling and O.C.D tendency like the shampoo, which he only wants to see at the same spot every day.

Michonne's closes the toilet seat, and she sits. She searches a cigarette in his pocket to replace a missed meal. She lights her fifth cigarette of the day, and she puts on her earphones. Michonne goes through the list of her voice note to find those, which Rick left. She takes a deep breath, and she begins to play them.

_"Sweetheart, I'm worried. Please, call me."_

Michonne erases the message, and she intends to call after listening to all her message.

_"Babe, please, call me."_ Rick sounds desperate,_" Fuck, I know you found the pills."_ Rick sounds guilty.

Michonne erases the message. She found the pills two days after their wedding. She never mentioned it because it did not stand in the way of their happiness.

_"Chonne, what did I do wrong? It doesn't matter. I'm sorry either way. Talk to me."_

She blows away the smoke. Michonne's fingers tremble. She draws a deep breath, and she attempts to remain focused.

_"You don't marry your favourite whore," _He yells, and Rick is furious. _"Fuck you, sweetheart."_

His words do not affect her beyond the surprise that he took so long before he gives into anger. Michonne has learned through their week as a married couple that Rick is quick to anger and even quicker to forgive and forget. She would fix their issues. It would take a bit of grovelling, but she would fix them. She thinks of ways to explain the why behind her irrational actions until his broken voice fills her ear. She picks the edge of drunkenness. From the slurred speech and his endless mood swing, Rick is as high as a kite. Michonne knows when he is on Xanax. Whatever he took is stronger than Xanax.

_"I'm sorry...I'm sorry. I'm sorry." _Rick repeats more than Michonne cares to hear him beat himself up for what he has not done.

Long minutes of sobbing sounds follow, and when he stops, it pours all his rage into his words.

_"You're such a bitch. Fuck you. You're a monster. Come back, please. I will fix whatever I need to fix." _He fails to remain angry. Ultimately, he returns to a softer tone. _"I know I'm not good enough for you. You're fucking perfect. I'm this broken addict. You're amazing. It hurts, Michonne._" She presses pause.

Michonne drains her cigarette. She stares at her feet while tears pool in the corner of her eyes. She inhales until tidal volume. She continues where she stopped.

_"I can't sleep, babe. I can't feel, breathe, or eat. If I don't numb it all, I can't work, sweetheart. I can't take it._" He is agonising, and she hears through each heavy breath following his confession

_"It hurts. I miss you._" Michonne hugs her knees.

_"I fucking need to work. It hurts, and I can take it. I fucking need it to hurt less. It hurts, and you don't get it. Just come back, sweetheart, and I will be clean. I will stay away from the hard stuff. I don't touch that hard shit, but it hurts. It hurts..." _Michonne snatches the earphone.

Michonne sits on the toilet for a few minutes. She feels numb, and yet she cries. In days, she has not grieved. She broke Rick beyond what he can endure. It feels like punishment for undeserved happiness. She cannot clear her head long enough to think. She has endured two weeks of purgatory, and she drags him into her misery.

Rick's pain, which she caused, ostracises Michonne. In her anguish, she rushes a poorly made decision.

Michonne regrets their union. She hates herself for clinging at him. For a few minutes, she allows herself to be selfish. Michonne cries and it is a succession of suffocated broken sound. She endlessly listens to Rick telling her how much she hurt him. When she finishes, she wants to torture herself for ruining his life beyond fixing.

Michonne does not call Rick. She calls her lawyer. She leaves the bathroom to return to her mother's side.

"Are you okay, baby?' Evelyn asks when Michonne remains silent for too long.

Oddly, she is not endlessly talking about the legal aspect of her mother's choice. Michonne has not involved anyone in the process for legal reasons. An attempt to help her mother die with dignity can rapidly become a criminal case where they might judge her for manslaughter. Divorce sounds like the remaining way to protect Rick from more harm, which she can cause.

* * *

Evelyn's interview is a success. Michonne does not talk about it, and Evelyn only hopes they will have a conversation. Michonne insists on the legal aspect. She obsesses on legal details.

It is a form of control.

Evelyn's death is three days after the interview. Michonne does not have a week to say her goodbye.

She unwisely uses her three days. For three days, she pretends that Evelyn's death is not imminent. She forgets about her mother's death by legally planning it.

On the third day when she has done everything, Michonne cannot escape it. On that third day, Evelyn asks for her company. Before death, the bravest people tremble too.

The room is a quiet place in the Alpes Mountains. Looking at the window, Michonne notices the thin carpet of snow on the roofs. It reminds her of a picturesque postcard. She absently hears when the nurse and the doctor explain the procedure. She forces herself to catch meaningful words. It is technical with almost a lack of empathy. It is legally complex.

Michonne finds comfort on the technicalities of the laws. No one has to assist with the physical part of the death, or it turns into a crime. Michonne nods, and she slowly accepts to watch her mother commit suicide. She does not want to talk about it.

The pills sit on the bedside. Michonne cannot fetch the water.

It will become a crime if she does.

Evelyn struggles to carry her glass of water. Michonne stares at the bed. It is small and looks comfortable. She has not slept in weeks. The room smells sterilized. The bedsheets are immaculate. Evelyn sits on the bed, and Michonne stands at the corner of the room. She quietly watches her mother swallow each pill. Once she finishes, they wait for hours.

Evelyn taps a spot on the bed where she is going to die. The bed frightens Michonne. She lies by her mother, and she is as frightened as a young child is. She chooses the window side, and she needs the sun to warm her. Cold is nipping at her heart. Evelyn rests her head on Michonne's shoulder.

"Is he a good man?" She whispers.

Her eyes rest on Michonne's ring. The purple diamond reflects the sun on Evelyn's skin.

"Better than any man I have known," She replies with a sinking heart, "Despite his demons, he manages to be a good man." Michonne sincerely answers.

"That's what matters." Evelyn takes Michonne's hand, and she lifts it to display the ring. "He tries to be a good man." She warmly smiles. "What's his name?" Evelyn inquires.

"Rick Grimes."

"Is he gorgeous?"

"He is pretty."

Evelyn laughs, and it is an effortless joy, which Michonne would miss. She kisses the crown of Michonne's head. Today, she does not smell like a drugstore where the medicine spilt on the floor. Michonne nuzzles her mother. Evelyn's scent is the same as in Michonne's youth. Soft citrus and burnt sugar fragrances fill her nose and lungs.

"Michonne Grimes, it has a nice ring to it." Evelyn smiles, and it will turn out to be her last one. Michonne will find out in a few minutes. "You go right back to him when this is over." She uses her motherly tone. Now it is not Evelyn, Michonne's best friend. It is the woman, who Michonne has called mama all her life. "You will need a good man or one who tries. Someone has to keep you happy." Evelyn cradles Michonne's cheek. "I have stolen enough of your happiness." She kisses Michonne's cheek. "I love you, baby."

The sudden silence does not announce Evelyn's last breath. Evelyn sleeps for a few minutes. The coldness, which assaults Michonne's lips when she kisses her mother's forehead, is the first whisper of death.

Evelyn's unresponsiveness when Michonne desperately shakes her is the roaring confirmation of her death. For a few minutes, Michonne holds onto her mother. She clings to Evelyn's cold corpse until she has to allow the doctor to do their job. Michonne holds her tears to deal with the legal aspect of death. An hour and a cause, which she has to sign, lay on death certificate. Death is a complex event.

Michonne cries three hours later. She does not know what she grieves.

She has many lives to mourn.

Michonne cries because she can no longer endure it. She cries until it becomes a painful outcry. She continues to cry until she sleeps four days later.

* * *

A voice note sets a tragedy in motions. For the last day, she has held up her soul with pieces of tape. A cigarette here and there keeps Michonne from crumbling. Sasha has eyed her movement with cautiousness. Michonne no longer wears a mask. Time and tears have eroded her facade of happiness. She is a shell of a human at best. She certainly fills empty of a soul.

It is a moment of weakness. A message, which Michonne has no heart to delete like the previous dozen, tempts her.

_"I saw the divorce papers," _Rick's voice fills the room.

Michonne does not care for how angry he sounds. She feasts on the velvet smoothness of his drawl. His timbre warms her.

_"I'm not going to sign them."_ He continues.

She does not dwell on her sentiment of almost joy. It reassures her that he does not want to take everything from her. Her thumb begins to roll her ring. She likes the cold comfort of the platinum band.

_"Not because I want to remain married to you," _he lies, and Michonne's heartache engrosses her too much to hear the hesitation in his voice. _"I regret the doing that shit. I regret the day when I dumbly fell in love with you." _The sincerity cuts through Michonne's wall. "_I'm not going to sign them because you want me to sign those papers. It will fuck your life over when you get that man who you care for half as much as I cared for you. You would still be married to me. Fuck you, Michonne."_

Michonne does not care much for his anger. It is the hurt oozing from his voice, which echoes on the heart bleeds through the gaping wounds.

Michonne drags Rick's backpack. She only wants her shirt, but under the shoved clothes, Michonne finds the Xanax. She understands what Rick meant. She needs to dull the ache. She wants a clear mind to think of Rick.

She needs a light heart to yearn for him. Michonne wants to sleep. She opens the container, and she picks enough pills to lace a horse.

She draws a cold bath. She throws in citrus and mint bath bombs.

Michonne swallows the pills. She wants a bath to feel better. She wants to scrub the horror of her life away.

After a few minutes, Michonne feels drowsy. She falls asleep, and she slowly slips under the water.

The weight of water is oppressive and pushes her body to the bottom. The cold water flows through Michonne's nose. Her lungs feel as if pearl of iron clogs each alveolus. She begins to drown, and she is too asleep to notice.

Sasha finds her a few minutes too early. Michonne is barely breathing. She sleeps from Sasha's fingers each time she attempts to pull her out of the water. It takes twenty minutes and lungs drenched in bath water before Sasha can pull her out. Another thirty-nine minutes of endless chest compressions, a day of swore arms, and two broken ribs for a month to hear the first coughing sounds leave Michonne's lips.

After several days of hospitalisation, Michonne calls everything an unfortunate accident. Sasha concludes that she cannot help. Rick Grimes is a need recourse.

* * *

**February 21st (present-day)**

**.**

**.**

"I'm fine, Sasha."

Michonne does not bother looking at the sound of her door opening. She does not wish to face those concerned brown eyes.

"Do you want to inspect my room again?" Michonne exasperatedly asks. "Are you going seriously to do it every day?" She sounds offended when she hears the approaching footsteps.

"Tell me it was an accident."

His weight makes her bed sink.

His arms come around her waist.

Michonne freezes at the sound of his voice.

She almost combusts at the contact of his delicate touch.

"Rick," Michonne sighs, and she switches her bedside lamp. "Hello," She feigns a disinterested tone.

"Was it an accident?" He asks as his chin comes to rest on Michonne's shoulder.

Michonne twists her neck to look at Rick. She is not good at lying to him. She does better lying to herself.

"I think," She breathes the words. "I don't know," Michonne reflects on Rick's question. "I didn't think it would go that way." She compromises between her belief and the truth. "I may have wished it hard enough." She moves out of Rick's embrace.

"Come here," Rick says as he reaches for Michonne's hand.

"No," She deadpans. Michonne leaves the bed. "Did you sign the divorce paper?" She asks.

Michonne begins to pace back and forth.

"Do you want me to sign them?" Rick retorts.

He leaves her bed to stand in the way of her pacing.

"Yes," She quietly replies, and she avoids him.

"Then It's settled. I'm not going to sign those papers."

Michonne takes a deep breath, and it does nothing to calm her mind. She returns to her bed. She allows her head to fall in her hands.

"Sweetheart."

Rick wraps his arms around Michonne, and she immediately breaks his embrace.

"Sign those papers, Rick," She repeats with growing frustration. "You cannot handle this." She points at herself. "You sign for the fun girl with the pink bubble gum dress. Do you want to join me down the sewer? Sign those papers before it begins to hurt." Michonne is brutally honest.

"I don't need saving, Michonne," Rick calmly states. "You always needed it more than I did. I knew what I signed. I read the fine print."

Michonne wants to argue, but Rick interrupts her.

"I focused on the details. Those melancholic smiles and that laugh, which reeked of pain, I always knew." He insists, "Meeting you felt like staring at an ethereal picture in restless water. I didn't know what your issues were, but I could tell they were there."

"Sign the papers."

"Only when it feels right." Rick agrees, "Until then let me be your husband."

Michonne is exhausted. She has no will or strength to argue against something, which she wants. She allows Rick to wrap his arms around her.

* * *

Michonne does not believe Rick will stay for long. When he would face the ugly reality of her, He would leave. It is going to hurt, and Michonne prepares herself for that moment when he does.

He does not leave during the first week, when she clings to him for each of her breaths.

They share a bed because they share so little words. A bed feels like a safe thing to share. Rick sleeps by the window side. She never opens the curtain.

"Day 6," Michonne taunts him. "Six days without going to work." She says as he comes to lie on the side.

"I took an extensive leave."

She does not have an immediate answer. Michonne leaves the bed. She begins to pace. She often does it. She feels caged too often for her liking.

"You enjoy being miserable," She laments. "What is wrong with you?" She asks with growing anger.

Rick sits, and he looks at Michonne. He watches as her anger consumes her. It is flame licking her soul.

"Many things are wrong with me," Rick replies," It didn't matter to you before now."

She looks at him. Michonne analyses Rick. She searches for the right provocation. She searches for the perfect stone to cast him away.

"What is wrong with you?"

Michonne does not expect the question. It overwhelms her. She loses track of her mind. She returns to the bed. She sits in complete silence.

"Everything," She says when he almost falls asleep. "Everything is too broken. My mind, my soul, and my heart," she mumbles those words. "I'm broken. You need to see it. You need to leave before I find a way to break you." She wipes the warm tears. She does not know what broken part of her cries. "Sign the paper, baby." She pleads with him.

Rick takes Michonne in his arms. It is the first contact, which she does not avoid in a week sharing a bed, an apartment, and misery. She stays in his arms until she feels the need to sleep.

"Goodnight, Chonne." Rick kisses her temples.

* * *

In the third week, she begins to doubt that he will leave. Michonne continues to hope that he will be selfish. She is already selfless. He does not have to do the same. She carries his burden, and she refuses to share hers.

Rick finds her on the balcony. Her feet swing over the city. Her locks fly with the breeze when it randomly blows. She looks beautiful, but she has never ceased to be through all of the horror going around her.

He picks the cigarette from her lips, and he takes a blow. She cringes at the sight of him smoking. Rick sits by Michonne.

She snatches the cigarette from his hand.

"You should quit smoking while you can do it," Michonne tells Rick as she takes a blow. "This is poison for your lungs. Your loved one would see you die. It kills everything around you." She laments between smokes.

"Evelyn used to smoke like a chimney." She tells him. "Then, it was too late. It did not matter if she stopped. She needed new lungs. She couldn't take a breath without crying of pain. Then the air wasn't free. I had to pay for the air, which my mama breathed. You should not smoke."

Michonne has not spoken about her mother since the eulogy at Evelyn's funeral.

" I had to pay for her death," She bitterly tells him.

Rick looks at Michonne. He takes her hand, and she lets him have it. His thumb brushes the back of her hand. She leans to rest her head on his shoulder. He takes the cigarette from her hand, and he throws it after the last blow.

The next day, he wears a patch. She only takes one because she does not want to ruin his lungs. She begins to eat more as the day passes.

* * *

Michonne questions Rick's sanity when he drags her to his lawyer. She almost hopes that he would sign the divorce paper. Michonne laughs because the situation is insane.

"You cannot force me," she yells at him.

He has never seen her so angry. He does not flinch when she shouts.

"I'm fine."

It is less of a lie that Rick believes. She feels better than a month ago. Spending almost two months with him helps. He has not left. She wants him to say sometimes. Other times, she needs him to sign the divorce and save himself from the poison dripping from her life to his.

"He is your husband," Shane says. "He can involve the court."

"Fucking shut up," Michonne interrupts him.

"I don't need therapy." She glares at Rick. "Why do you think you will achieve this? Do I drag you to rehab? Do I comment on how many pills you take?"

Rick scratches his head. He would not have to force her if she cared enough for herself. He would not have to be selfish if she could be.

"I cannot do it on my own," Rick admits.

Michonne looks at him. She stops for a second. Rick and Michonne look at Shane. He understands and leaves the room.

"Sign the papers, baby." Michonne tenderly says. "You think I don't see how bad you're hurting. I see it in every look. You wonder when I will be me. I don't know when it will happen, Rick." She confesses. "I feel dead inside. I don't know when it started. It was before Switzerland. It was before I learned what I did to you. After Vegas, I thought I could breathe again. I think it happened with the first client. I think after that first time. I began to crumble." Michonne admits. "You didn't create this. Don't let me create this." She points at Rick.

He looks like a shadow of himself. It is her fault. When she does not sleep, he stays awake with her. If she spends her night on a cold balcony, Rick would hug Michonne to keep her warm. She took his job away from him. She can see how insane it drives him.

Rick looks exhausted. The heavy bag under his eyes tells a long story of sleepless nights.

"Do you want to hear how well I held two months without you?" He asks her with no intention to share such an ugly reality. "Rick pulls his sleeve. He shows her his arms. I'm only pulling out. I stopped a month ago. You would have noticed if you worried less about how you drive me insane." He drags down his sleeves. "You didn't create this. Cocaine withdrawal did. In the many lists of the things wrong with me, cocaine is out because I can't be high around you. I cannot do that shit to you. So don't do this shit to me. You have power over me, and I cannot help it. You cannot do a fuck about it. Get help Michonne. I cannot do it alone."

Michonne sits. She only wants to set him free. Rick comes to kneel before her. He cradles her face. It is far from the gentle touch, which he often gives to comfort her. He wants her, and Michonne thoughts. She would never again see the lust for her in his eyes. She kisses him. It feels like a first breath. It is painful. It is a need and freeing. She presses her fingers in his skin. She kisses him forever.

* * *

He waits for her out of the therapist room. He always stays after making sure that she attends her session.

Michonne leaves the room exhausted.

She returns with less pain. It is a form of insanity to stretch scar tissues until it bleeds to help for smooth healing.

"Thank you," Michonne says.

They are four months into living together. They shared one kiss in Shane's office.

They share a bed every night. They are not intimate. They have not come to term with how ugly their relationship can be.

Rick has stopped using the nicotine patch. He does not smoke. She has a harder time stopping, but she does it occasionally when she needs to glue her soul.

Rick looks at Michonne. He smiles, and she does not know if he is happy. She wants him to be content.

"We talked about you," Michonne tells Rick when they enter his...their home.

"You don't have to tell me about your therapy session." Rick states.

Sometimes, He pries when she comes out of the room bent out of shape. Today, she came out with a smile. He does not have to worry.

"Not with my therapist," Michonne clarifies. "My mother on her deathbed wanted to know if you were a good man."

Rick stops, and he looks at Michonne with a certain curiosity.

"She would love you," Michonne admits." No, she would adore you. I think you're a good man. Slightly rough around the edges but almost too good to be in this mess with me." She tells him. "Shut up, Richard." She presses her finger on his, and so he does not interrupt her. "I couldn't understand why she would want to die when I was ready to give her my lungs." She breathes out the words. "She wanted to die to help me keep my lungs. I was miserable all along, but I would have been worse if I didn't give everything I had. It wasn't enough."

Michonne steps back. She has not been so close to Rick in months.

"Don't give me your lungs." Michonne gently caresses his cheek.

Rick does not respond. He kisses the palm of his hands.

* * *

Michonne does not know how a caress turned into a kiss, which led to shedding clothes. They are not ready for sex. It was too chaotic at the time. Her therapist says they need to rebuild a foundation to their couple.

She does not think beyond their kiss. Rick initiated it. Michonne moans, and his forefinger dips in her cunt. She gyrates her hips for more friction. Michonne voraciously kisses Rick. Her fingers run on his back and tangle on the hair at his nape.

He is tender. Rick hesitates, and what he learned of her body during their honeymoon has escaped her mind.

However, Rick still knows how to coerce an orgasm from her. Michonne comes undone quicker than she expects to do. The interlude should end before it becomes to them.

Michonne holds Rick tightly.

She is not ready to let him go.

Rick's lips graze Michonne's stomach, and his breath flirts with the mound of her cunt. His kisses turn into licks when his lips brush her cunt. Rick sucks and kisses her inner core with devotion. She comes harder than the first time.

"I want you," She pleads with him to stay in this bed with her. "Baby, please." Michonne holds his manhood, and she lines it with her parted labia.

He penetrates her with a swift movement. He curses in her ear, and her name soon follows. She understands the effort, which he makes not to come by his rough grip in her arm.

He does not trust for a few seconds.

Their pants fill the room. Rick's teeth graze her skin.

When he gets a grip, He begins to move.

Michonne closes her eyes.

She knows how contained Rick is.

For tonight, she wants the chaos, which their love is. She sinks her teeth in his shoulder. Pain drives Rick's desire. Michonne grabs his chin, and she forces him to look into her eyes.

"I want you," she reiterates. "I won't break." Michonne kisses Rick.

It is rough and brutal at some point. There is a violence, which she needs to glue her back into herself. Rick thrusts harder each time. She ascends when his hand closes around her throat. She enjoys the powerlessness and the trust, which she has in his control. He keeps her hands plasterer on the mattress.

He drives in her with ardour. He chokes her when her lungs carry needs. She moans and grunts. Rick kisses her. He drinks her lust. Her body burns and tingles. Michonne's orgasm is warm like a summer wave. It crushes her as an angry sea breaks the stones at the shore. Rick follows seconds after her climax. Michonne cannot let him go.

Rick and Michonne sleep in an odd position where she desperately holds onto him.

* * *

Rick and Michonne bury that episode as they did with the kiss in Shane's office. They pretend to be blind to many things. However, Michonne refuses to ignore the truth on bigger things.

"I have it," Michonne pulls out the pills container. "I thought it was to keep up with work."

Rick chuckles, and she caught him in a lie. He does not know what else to do. He extends his hand to reclaim his pills.

"It is for work," He does not retire what he previously claimed. "or it was," Rick admits. "Now, it helps me think about anything but work."

"Give me something," Michonne asks. "Do you want another broken piece of my story in exchange? This bottle is empty. I found four more. Don't die on me, Richard. Don't you dare do that to me!"

"I don't know how to be complete without my work," Rick admits. "I get anxious when I don't have that little rush. I get anxious when I'm Rick Grimes, son, to my bigger than nature father. It drives me insane when I don't have a big sale to prove that I don't owe my success to a trust fund. I don't want to be like him. I don't want to be the other failure. I can't be the second disappointment. I'm so much like him. The cocaine, the crazy side, it is all of him. I'm like my dead junky brother. If I don't have purpose and focus, I do what he did when you left." Rick begins to hyperventilate. "I panic. My work kept me out of the home when it happened. It kept me out of those looks, which dad would give him. If I can't work, I can't control those thoughts. So what if I take some pills? It keeps me from getting worse."

Michonne did not expect the entire truth.

"I will be fine," She tells him. "There won't be any accidents." Michonne returns the pills container.

Michonne stands on her toes, and she kisses his forehead.

Rick does not stop with the pills. He returns to his work the day after. She wants something similar. Rick Grimes has been her anchor for too long.

* * *

She faces the signed paper. He keeps his words. Now, it feels right to end their relationship. Michonne is too good for Rick. He loves her beyond what he can admit.

Eight months into a rash relationship with odd moments, unspoken kisses during certain nights, and sex, which happens when it should not, Rick and Michonne need to rebuild their lives

Rick Grimes is often an asshole. Tonight, Michonne has a taste of it. She removes her work clothes. She is preparing for her first trial in a week. She does not have time to find a new home.

"Rick?"

He does not reply. She searches for him in the house. Rick is at work. Michonne sits on the sofa. She might wait all night. Living and ridiculously loving Rick Grimes is learning to wait.

"You packed my clothes," Michonne says when the door opens.

"I packed my clothes." Rick corrects Michonne. "Your trial is coming in a week." He explains when she raises her trimmed eyebrow in confusion.

"And you want me to lose?" Michonne inquires.

Rick comes to sit by Michonne. He leans to rest his head on her shoulder. She rests her head on his head.

"I don't want to ruin your life anymore." Rick states, "It's not without flaw, but you earned that divorce. I think I have to let go. It does not matter how much I'm in love with you." He kisses her shoulder. "Sign the paper, and Shane will handle the rest."

"Do you want me to sign those divorce papers?" Michonne asks. "I don't want to end this life we share. I don't want an empty bed. I need to know where the bottle of shampoo goes." She gently says. "I need to stop smoking." She scratches her nicotine patch. "I need to tell you that I'm in love with you. I don't want to stop being Michonne Grimes." Michonne admits with a smile. "Do you want me to sign those papers?"

Rick grabs the papers, and he offers them to Michonne.

"Tear them apart." Rick kisses Michonne with tenderness

**Fin**

**After writing the last line, I noticed that Pink bubble gum is a prequel of break-up and consequences. Therefore, If Michonne's devotion to Rick needed explaining here we're. **


End file.
